


Maledictus Creaturae

by shabbacabba



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abused Harry Potter, Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ancient Rome, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Blood Magic, But that doesn't mean they aren't still People, F/M, Human/Vampire Relationship, International Confederation of Wizards (Harry Potter), Latin, Love at First Sight, Magical Theory (Harry Potter), Morally Grey Harry Potter, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Revolution, Sexual Content, Shadow magic, The Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter) is Terrible, Vampires, Vampires are Feared, and for good reason, except not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 43,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28848204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shabbacabba/pseuds/shabbacabba
Summary: London is ancient, and beneath it are hidden catacombs where those that have been cast out of society, Magical or otherwise, have found refuge since before the Statute of Secrecy. It is here, that Harry will meet a new ally. It is here, that fate takes a turn. It is here, that the war will be forever changed. Guided by visions of Voldemort, and driven on by bravery bordering on stupidity, Harry plunges into the hidden reaches of the Magical World.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Original Female Character(s), Hermione Granger & Harry Potter, Sirius Black & Harry Potter
Comments: 31
Kudos: 35





	1. The Catacombs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it bravery? Is it foolishness? Regardless, he is committed. There will be no turning back from this.

This is not a good idea.

In fact this may be the single worst idea Harry has ever had, and even he has to admit he's had some dumb ideas.

"It'll be worth it. Knowing what Voldie's up to has to help _somehow_ ," he muttered to himself as he glanced around a corner from under the safety of his cloak.

Following Voldemort into a graveyard in the dead of night because of a nightmare-vision is the kind of plan that only Harry would think of. Ron and Hermione would go along with it, not without some needling from Hermione granted, but they would never think to do this on their own.

If he hadn't _known_ that time was not on his side (and it would surely take time to convince them to join him) then maybe he would have woken them up.

Voldemort approached a mausoleum. Grand and imposing, built out of white marble in the classic roman style. It would've looked right at home on the grounds of the colosseum itself. It had no visible doors. Instead, the walls were adorned with base reliefs depicting what looked like knights standing over a kneeling crowd, if Harry had his guess.

The Dark Lord slashed his wand across his palm, then flicked it at the wall. A thin stream of blood followed the movement, splashing across the face of one of the stately knights. The blood absorbed into the stones, and then where once there was a solid, if well decorated wall, there was a heavy oaken door.

The door swung open on its own, revealing a gulf of liquid blackness that Harry swore didn't look natural. Voldemort healed himself with a lazy swish of his wand, then strolled casually into the darkness beyond the threshold.

And just like that the wall was back in place.

"Alright Tommie boy, let's see what you're after." Harry jogged up to the secret door, cloak billowing around him, and took a moment to take in the base relief in more detail.

And to let Tom get some distance from the door so he wouldn't notice it opening behind him.

The knights, adorned in ornate armor topped with what Harry swore looked like duelist style robes, stood tall and proud above a kneeling mass of robed men and women. Harry reached out and let his hand trail across the carving.

"These are wizards kneeling here," he muttered to himself. "But who are they kneeling to?" He looked closely, and there on the hilts of the knights' swords, on their breastplates, and hanging around their neck, was a sigil. It looked vaguely like a hiltless dagger, pointed down, with a loop on top where the hilt ought to be.

He didn't recognize it. Doubtless Hermione would.

"I'm starting to regret not waking you guys up." But there's nothing for it but to press onward. Harry pulled his penknife out of his pocket, and before he could think about it too hard, slashed it across his palm like he'd seen Tommie boy do.

It stung like a bitch, but he'd had worse and hardly even flinched. He stuck his hand out from under the cloak and smeared a stripe of blood across the lead knight, and just like before the wall melted away into a heavy wooden door.

It swung open as Harry was pocketing his knife.

The darkness beyond was like a physical thing. A wall, taunting him, saying 'you couldn't possibly be brave enough to risk the unknown. Not when _he's_ in here.'

Harry shook himself, firmed his lips, and plunged forward into the dark.

The moment he passed the barrier it was like a veil was lifted from him, and he could finally see what had always been there, hidden in the black.

A stone staircase with alcoves on each side, lined sparsely with lit candles and the bones of the long since dead, descended down and down and _down_ in front of him, before ending abruptly in a T-shaped intersection. It reminded Harry of the Catacombs under Paris, but it was totally pristine. Almost lived in. The stairs were well worn, clearly oft-traveled, and there was a surprising lack of cobwebs.

And Voldemort was nowhere in sight.

"Shite!" Harry hissed to himself as he plunged down the stairs as quickly and quietly as he could. He nearly slammed into the wall at the bottom of the steps, head whipping back and forth trying to find-

There! Heading down the right hand path at a brisk pace was the wraith silhouette of the Dark Lord. With a determined nod, Harry pushed off the wall and made to follow at a relatively safe distance. Harry nearly snorted at the thought. There's no such thing as safe distance when Voldemort's involved.

The catacombs stretched on in front and around him, paths branching off and away into darkness every few feet, while the lit path Voldemort followed turned only occasionally, but always angled slightly downwards. Even so, Harry worried that if he had to retrace this path alone that he might never find his way out of this labyrinth.

Without even meaning to, he drifted closer to the Dark Lord he was following until he was barely more than ten feet away.

 _What the hell were you thinking?_ He asked himself, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart and the shaking in his hands brought about by the instantaneous adrenaline rush being anywhere _near_ Voldemort caused in any sane, rational person.

Of course, what right does he have to call himself sane or rational in this moment? Following a Dark Lord that's out for his blood into a labyrinthian catacomb beneath the city of London on a whim is the kind of mind numbingly stupid idea that Hermione would smack him for even _joking_ about.

Maybe it's for the best he left them behind. At least this way, if this goes horribly wrong somehow, Harry is the only one that'll have to suffer the consequences. He glances down at the wand clutched like a lifeline in his hand; sees how his tendons stand out, feels how the wood is biting painfully into his palm, and forces his grip to relax.

Not like the wand will do him any good if he's discovered. Even if he _could_ put up anything resembling a fight against someone like Tom fucking Riddle, he _legally can't_.

God _damn_ the ministry! That absolute pillock Fudge, his disgusting pink toady, and everyone else in that corrupt cesspit of incredible incompetence! Trying to neuter him for saving his own life when he's got people after his life. Fucking _ridiculous_!

If Voldemort weren't a whole 'nother package of awful altogether, Harry might be tempted to let him take over, just to see the look on Fudge's face when he realizes how incredibly wrong and _stupid_ he's been before he dies.

It's a truly sad state of affairs when the legitimate government is so bad it makes you consider letting someone like sodding _Voldemort_ overthrow it, even as a passing thought.

The Dark Lord turns rather suddenly, heading through an archway and into an expansive chamber; perfectly round, at least a hundred feet across, lit with candles that glow an eerie yet beautiful pale blue. They remind Harry of the perfectly still moments in the dead of night, when the moon shines bright enough to see, and the clouds are nowhere to be seen _._ In alcoves all around the chamber are life-size statues depicting the same knights from the base relief on the entrance to the catacomb.

Directly across from the arch they had entered from is a depiction of what must be these people's leader. He stands head and shoulders above the others, in armor that looks almost too ornate to be functional, a sword held aloft in his right hand with a goblet in his left. His expression has been captured masterfully, Harry thinks. He emits a certain strength that Harry cannot articulate, a regal bearing and a piercing stare that just screams: 'I'm the most powerful person in the room, and I _know it._ '

Voldemort approaches this statue, and as Harry looks around he notices that there are no other paths but the one they came from. A dead end? Surely not. Tom wouldn't have come all this way to appreciate a dozen or so statues, no matter how finely sculpted they may be.

Tom raises his hand above the goblet, and Harry realizes what he's doing just before he slashes his palm open again, blood flowing freely to collect in the goblet. A wave of _something_ , a magic that Harry finds startlingly familiar and yet totally foreign washes over him. Voldemort nods to himself, seemingly satisfied, before carelessly healing himself and moving to stand in the exact center of the chamber.

He nearly brushes against Harry, and he has to scramble out of the way to prevent disaster. For a moment, Harry stands stock still, less than three feet from the Dark Lord, holding his breath and willing his heart to _slow down_ and be _quiet!_ Surely Tom can hear it from where he is with how hard it's beating against his ribs.

But Tom doesn't react in any way, and then the floor beneath them shudders, drops a bit all at once, and begins to descend at a rapid but not uncomfortable pace.

Bloody hell, it's a magic elevator! Like the one at the Ministry, but hidden _so much_ better. And apparently powered by blood sacrifice.

Blood magic isn't something Harry's heard much of before. He vaguely recalls seeing several tomes in the Forbidden Section of the Library on the subject, and he's heard it mentioned in idle conversation once or twice, but it's never been brought up in any of his actual subjects.

As the chamber slides even further down into the earth, Harry makes several mental notes to fix this gap in his knowledge ASAP. He relies on blood wards to keep himself safe at his relatives house after all. He really ought to make an effort to understand the magic his mother wove in her dying moments. And on top of that; who knows how many secrets like this place are hidden across the world? Hogwarts could have so many more passages and chambers secreted away, hidden behind blood protections and false doors just waiting to be discovered.

As the chamber makes no show of stopping anytime soon, Harry's momentary excitement at the fascinating new magic gives way to nerves.

Just how far _down_ can you even go?

Voldemort, of course, is totally unaffected; waiting with perfect posture and unnatural stillness. The bastard.

This is rather a lot of trouble and waiting, Harry realizes. Not for the first time, he wonders what it is exactly Tom is up to down here.

Eventually the chamber comes to a gentle stop, and almost immediately two knights materialize out of the shadows by the archway. Their armor is immediately identifiable as the same style as the statues above, if significantly less ornate and much more practical looking. That being said, to call their armor and robes plain would be a grave disservice to the craftsmanship that must have gone into them.

Their armor gleams and shimmers, like the surface of a gently flowing river in the sun, and clearly covers all their vital areas, even below their duelist style over-robes. The robes are dark as darkness can be, probably made of acromantula silk if Harry has his guess, and trimmed with a deep crimson that seems to almost flow across their surface like blood.

They wear no helmets, but have their hoods drawn up, casting their faces in shadow. Even so, Harry can see how unnaturally pale and gaunt they are, can see how their eyes glimmer in the darkness cast by their hoods, and he realizes what they are the moment one of them opens their mouth to speak and he sees their fangs.

"Follow us. Our Lord is expecting you." Without waiting for a reply, the two vampires turn on their heel and march out of the chamber, clearly expecting Voldemort to do as he's told.

Harry likes them already. It takes serious balls to bark an order at Lord fucking Voldemort.

Tommie boy tries valiantly to restrain a scowl as he moves to follow, and Harry almost laughs at how shit of a job he does. Not used to getting treated like a commoner, is he?

Harry follows as well, and as soon as he crosses the threshold he's hit with a wall of sounds and smells and sights the likes of which he hasn't experienced since his first trip to Diagon Alley.

Despite having gone down and down and _down_ for ages, they've exited the elevator into what is clearly a bustling marketplace. All around him are buildings of various sizes and shapes, all built in the Roman style. White marble arches lined the street, from which hung braziers that held bright blue flames that kept the place lit well enough that Harry could see without difficulty, but that still left lingering shadows all over the place. Also hanging from the arches were baskets of whatever goods the people peddled at their shops, and by god the market stalls themselves!

They stretched on and on in every direction as far as the eye could see, each one manned by an exuberant salesman, peddling their wares to the crowds meandering their way through the packed streets. Immediately to his right Harry noticed a falafel stand, three men and a woman working assembly line fashion to put out food as fast as the impressive crowd around their stall could order it. Several goblins and a dwarf were among the crowd. Further down the road was what Harry swore was Professor Trelawney's younger and more put together sister, selling jewelry made of carved jade and other stones that the signs on her stall proclaimed would bring their wearer good fortune. In a far off corner of the marketplace, he catches a glimpse of an honest to goodness blacksmith, the sound of a hammer and anvil just audible over the raucous din of the marketplace.

Harry looks up, and there, clearly visible through the mosaic of archways and baskets and linen lines crossing the street overhead, is the night sky. For a moment, Harry wonders if that elevator ride did more than just take him down; if perhaps he's been transported to somewhere else entirely. Then he notices, just barely visible and fading more the further up he looked, there are arches _behind_ the night sky. Just like the Great Hall of Hogwarts.

Hermione would _freak_ if she could see this!

At first glance, Harry thinks that this is just another wizard marketplace, somewhere like Diagon Alley, but then he notices one of the vendors, one selling potion ingredients that Harry is _sure_ are illegal, is clearly a vampire, and so are most of his clientele. Before he can figure out why so many vampires would be crowded around a potion shop, a man nearly bowls him over, and Harry notices his prominent scars and the thick hair on his palms. Werewolf.

He only just manages to avoid a collision, swearing under his breath as he dances around people as best he can.

Sure, there are witches and wizards here, but this is decidedly _not_ a wizard marketplace. Not in the same way Diagon Alley is, at least.

Harry darts forward, trying to stick himself to Voldemort's back while at the same time keeping enough distance that he won't run into him if he should come to a sudden stop. The last thing he wants is to get lost in the crowd, or worse: discovered and killed.

The crowd doesn't exactly part around the Dark Lord and his escort, but the people do step around them in an odd mix of fear and respect, and Harry notices several vendors giving Tommie Boy sharp looks before decidedly ignoring him and going about their days.

Voldemort himself ignores everyone and everything around him, gliding imperiously through the streets like a king in a foriegn land. Something tells Harry that that is _exactly_ what he is in this place.

What would that make him? A visiting dignitary? An unwanted intruder? Probably best not to find out.

They turned, and just like that they were leaving the marketplace and entering a vast open area not unlike the National Mall in Washington D.C. Ahead of them stretched a field of softly glowing flowers, ringed with trees whose leaves shone like sapphires, through which a multitude of paths weaved their way between statues and monuments, before ending at a series of steps that ascended a hill. Upon the summit of which sat a palatial structure that looked equal parts roman state house and castle; all gleaming white marble adorned with tapestries festooned with that same dagger like sigil Harry had seen before, and high towers visibly manned by guards in the same armor as Tommie Boy's escort.

The softly glowing flora cast easy light upon the promenade while the stars twinkled in the enchanted ceiling overhead. A gentle breeze set the flowers dancing all in unison, and brought with it the lovely fresh scent of all things growing that was like a balm to the senses after the cacophony of the marketplace. As they made their way down the path, Harry couldn't help but feel that this place was tranquil in a way that nowhere else he'd ever been could attest to.

Harry stopped where he was to appreciate the sights and sounds of pure serenity, and it was only seeing Voldemort moving, wraithlike, further and further away from him that broke him from his wonder and got him moving with purpose again.

Tom fucking Riddle doesn't belong here. Of that, Harry is absolutely sure. He knows it in his _bones_. He walks with single minded determination, heedless of the beauty around him, uncaring and unmoved by any of what he's seen so far.

Sacrilege! That's what it is. This place may be home to vampires and werewolves and who knows what else, but Harry knows that what he's seen so far is somehow _good_. This is not the dark and terrible place the wizards in the Wizengamot would make it out to be. This is these people's _home._

Voldemort doesn't even understand what a home _is._ He will destroy this place and the people that built it as surely as he will everything else he touches.

 _Why_ is he being allowed here? Negotiations with whatever community this is? Doesn't really seem his style, Harry thinks. But then again, this place is _massive_ , and surely has a population to match, and everything Harry has learned of vampires is that they are never to be underestimated. Hell, accounts of what exactly vampires are actually capable of are so wildly contradictory that all Harry knows for sure about them is what they look like, that sunlight most definitely kills them, and a stake through the heart will _probably_ kill them.

Or seriously piss them off. Not a gamble he'd be willing to take.

Maybe negotiation is simply wiser than outright conquest in this case, even for the immortal Dark Lord himself.

As they ascended the steps towards the castle, Harry noticed that every few feet were hidden alcoves along the sides of the steps, from which peered the resolute countenances of more vampiric guards. The first set they passed disgorged two more guards which took up position behind Voldemort, effectively boxing him in. Voldemort doesn't so much as glance behind him, but Harry sees how his shoulders tense and his fingers clench, as if seeking the comforting weight of his wand.

Harry got the distinct impression that Tom could have walked away from whatever meeting he was heading to, right up until that moment. He's committed now. There will be no backing out, and he knows it.

Harry only hopes that this meeting goes poorly for the Dark Lord.

Their little procession; one snake faced Dark Lord clad in robes like black smoke, surrounded by four vampiric guardsmen in gleaming armor, all being tailed by one invisible Boy-Who-Lived, make their way through a massive gate, then turned into a much smaller door that still manages to dwarf anything short of the doors to the Great Hall, down a hall, and make their way into a small antechamber. There is a couch and two armchairs before a roaring hearth on one side, and a small bar stocked with who knows what on the other.

Here, the lead guards stop and turn towards Voldemort for the first time since they appeared.

"You will wait here until summoned. You will maintain a distance of at least twenty paces from Lord Erasmus Livius at all times. Failure to do so will be seen as an act of aggression. You will not draw your wand or move as if to draw your wand without express permission from Lord Erasmus Livius. Failure to do so will be seen as an act of aggression. You are a guest, here at our Lord's pleasure. And if it pleases him you will be allowed to remain."

Without waiting for a reply, the lead guards turned and simply melted into the shadows around the door as if they were never there. The rear guard took up positions at the door they had entered through. The message was clear: no going back, only forward, and only when you are told. Once again, Harry found himself impressed with these people.

Voldemort shot them a measuring look, then moved to stand before the hearth, hands clasped behind his back while he stared into the flickering flames.

With nothing better to do, Harry moved to stand by one of the armchairs, and observed his mortal nemesis in a moment of contemplation. The firelight glinted oddly against his skin, and it was only when Harry squinted that he realized it was because his skin was scaled irregularly, as if patches of it were made of snake skin. He grimaced, having to hold back a shudder at how grotesque Tommie Boy had become.

Tom was going along with this without complaint. He's either playing some sort of part in a bid to acquire something later, or he's genuinely not willing to risk the wrath of this Lord Livius person.

The former fits Harry's understanding of him better, but Tom would've hidden his agitation at being treated like a commoner better if that were the case, and the only time his facade cracked was when he realized he was boxed in by guards. Which means …

Oh _shit_. Tom is actually unwilling to fight Lord Livius, at least for now. What kind of power must he have to make Lord fucking _Voldemort_ think twice about antagonizing him? Harry frowned as he considered it. Voldemort is immortal - somehow - but being resurrected took him thirteen years the last time, so it makes sense he'd want to avoid a repeat performance.

That's only considering this Lord Livius as a personal threat rather than a more organizational or political one. It's entirely possible Livius has the clout and numbers to be able to take on the Death Eaters and win. Given the scale of the city and how populated it is, it wouldn't really surprise Harry if that was the case.

So really, it makes complete sense that Voldemort wouldn't want to risk conflict with such a powerful force. And if he's unwilling to fight him, then he must be here to persuade him to his side. Hermione would suggest that he could be there for a simple nonaggression pact, but Harry knows that when it comes to Voldemort you're either with him or you're in his way. There's no such thing as neutrality to him.

Harry _really_ hopes this meeting goes poorly.

At no signal that Harry could see, the guards at the rear of the room approached Voldemort, who turned his head to watch their approach with snake-like precision.

"Our Lord will see you now. Proceed into the throne room."

Voldemort inclined his head in acknowledgement and made for the door the other set of guards had disappeared through earlier. Harry stuck close enough that he could slip through the door before it closed, though it seemed to be a wasted effort as the door remained open until the guards followed them out, when it shut of its own accord.

They made their way through a column of pillars and into the central area of the throne room. It was a massive space, roughly as large as the Hogwarts Great Hall, but it felt narrower due to the rows of pillars on either side. In front of each pillar was stationed a single vampiric guard in perfect parade rest. To their right was a set of massive doors, heavily reinforced and bolted shut. They were clearly meant to be the main entrance, so why was it that Voldemort was led through an antechamber? Security reasons? Simple insult? Is he not worth the effort of opening the main doors?

Voldemort was headed to the left, and Harry put the thought aside as he moved to follow. At the far end of the room was a raised dais, at the center of which were two thrones, only one of which was occupied. The man sat in repose upon that throne was very clearly the same one depicted in the statue that Voldemort had used to activate the elevator. The statue had been plain marble, not a spot of color to be found, and Harry took in the sight of Lord Erasmus Livius in his throne.

He was a large man, that much was clear even as he lounged on the throne. Broad shoulders almost wider than the back of his throne, with his legs stretched out almost carelessly in front of him, one leg slightly bent. One hand was idly stroking his short beard, while the other rested on the hilt of a sword at his hip. He looked, for all the world, totally relaxed and unaware of his surroundings.

But his eyes told a different story. There were no whites to his eyes. Instead, the space around his iris was as black as pitch, contrasting sharply with the vibrant blue of his eyes and the paleness of his skin. Those eyes watched with hawk-like focus as the Dark Lord approached the dais and sank into a shallow bow.

The other vampires Harry had seen and read about all looked vaguely sickly; too pale, too gaunt, a greyish undertone to their complexion that bespoke of their inhuman nature, but Lord Livius had none of these traits. His skin was pale, yes, but it looked oddly healthy, as if this is how it was always meant to look. His features were thin and well defined, but not unnaturally so. He wouldn't have looked out of place next to Julius Caesar, Harry thinks. Really, the only thing about him that looked unusual in the extreme were his eyes, which Harry swore shone faintly, as if a candle were lit behind them.

Voldemort came out of his bow, and opened his mouth to speak. To say what, no one would ever know, for Lord Erasmus Livius chose that moment to address his guest in a voice as calm and deep as the ocean, and accented richly. Harry thought it might be an italian accent, but something about that felt off. He didn't stress the m's and n's the way an Italian speaker would, but rather breezed over them almost like they weren't there. Odd.

"Voldemort. So, the rumors of your return were true." He didn't sound surprised, or impressed, but perhaps vaguely annoyed, as if the Dark Lord were little more than a buzzing insect that kept coming through his window to irritate him.

Voldemort splayed out his hands and smiled viciously. "I have gone further in my steps towards immortality than any before. I am eternal. Death has no hold over me." Harry had to stop himself from snorting at the magnificent arrogance on display. Even as the guest in another Lord's palace, Voldemort can't stop himself from _gloating_. Typical.

Livius seemed about as impressed as Harry was, for his only response was to raise a single eyebrow and mutter, "Indeed." Like a parent humoring a very small and boisterous toddler.

Harry crossed his arms and leant against a pillar near the base of the dais, not more than ten feet from Livius, ready to watch these two ping pong off each other.

Voldemort's smile vanished like smoke and his arms went behind his back once again. Harry could see the hilt of his wand conspicuously visible in the front of his robes, and he wondered if Voldemort crossing his arms behind himself was an attempt at restraint.

"Why have you come?" Livius' voice was conversational, but Harry could see the seriousness of the question in his eyes.

"You know why I have come." Voldemort shot back. Livius huffed and leaned back in his throne, steepling his fingers as he regarded Tommie Boy thoughtfully.

"You are as arrogant and impatient as ever." He said matter of factly. Again Harry had to restrain himself from laughing. Oh he liked this Lord Livius!

"Now answer my question properly, or get thee gone from my sight." Voldemort's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, but his voice was level, hinting at being excited when he spoke.

"I have returned, and soon my conquest of the magical world will begin. Britain is only the beginning. Join me. Swear yourself to my cause, and I will give your people all the rights and privileges befitting them that are denied to you by the ignorant governments that rule our world today." Harry froze, a cold sweat forming on his skin, as Voldemort laid out his offer.

He's lying. Harry knows this immediately. Voldemort only cares for one thing: himself. He'll use these people like he does everyone else and toss them aside once they've spent their usefulness. Livius has to see it. There's no way he'll fall for this.

But when Harry looks at the Lord on his throne, he sees contemplation in his unusual eyes.

"And what rights and privileges are my people being denied?" He intoned softly.

Voldemort smiled like a shark that smelled blood. "It would be easier to list the ones you _aren't_ being denied, wouldn't it Erasmus?" The use of his first name clearly didn't sit well with the Vampire Lord, as his eyes immediately narrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line.

"I suppose you are right, _Tom._ " Harry nearly choked trying not to gasp out in shock. Livius knows Tommie Boy's real name!? "But what guarantee would I have that you would hold up your end of the bargain?"

Riddle only shrugged. "I suppose you have none, but what you do have is a guarantee from the Ministry as it is: eradication. I only offer you a chance to save your people and gain the station owed to you once more."

For a very long time, Livius stared at Voldemort, contemplating the offer. Harry wanted to jump up and shout; 'No! Don't trust him!' But if he did, Voldemort would kill him where he stands, he's sure of it. So, he tamps the urge down as hard as he can, but it never fully leaves him.

From the shadows behind the throne steps a young woman, resplendent in gleaming armor and flowing robes, embroidered with fluid patterns in royal purple, that seemed to pulse to an unknown beat. The dagger like sigil is in place of pride over her heart, emblazoned on her pauldrons, and stitched into the edges of her robes. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face in a deceivingly simple looking crown of braids, leaving the rest of her hair to fall in gentle waves around her shoulders. She is somehow even paler than Livius, looking like she might have been carved from marble were it not for the subtle veins Harry could see on her temple, and the healthy rose hue of her lips. Her eyes are silver pools of starlight, glittering in the black void of her sclera, and Harry finds he has a hard time looking away from them once he notices them.

She places a delicate hand on Livius' shoulder, and when he looks at her his stoicness fades, replaced for an instant with such glowing affection that Harry knows that he must be this woman's father.

"Celestine, my daughter, what do you think of Voldemort's offer?" She purses her lips as she regards the Dark Lord, and Harry takes a moment to really compare her to her father. After only a moment's consideration, he decides that she gets most of her good looks from her mother. She has a similar aristocratic cut to her; features sharp and well defined, but where her father's face is thin, hers is heart shaped. Her nose is small and almost delicate looking where it sits over thin but shapely lips. Her eyes are large and expressive, nestled between high cheekbones and sharp eyebrows.

She's beautiful, Harry thinks. And then he shakes himself, pushing her distractingly good looks out of his mind as best he can while he _screams_ in his mind for her to tell her father, unequivocally, _not to trust the monster that is offering them nothing but sweet lies!_

Her eyes widen subtly, and flicker to where Harry is standing and back to Voldemort so fast Harry isn't sure he actually saw it or was imagining it. She takes a deep breath in through her nose, and again her eyes cut to him and back again almost too fast to see, but this time Harry is sure of it.

He's been made.

Somehow, Celestine knows he's there.

 _Please don't out me,_ he pleads in his mind, hoping beyond hope that whatever deity is in charge of his fate is listening.

After an interminable moment of watching Celestine watch Voldemort with a considering expression, she turns to her father. Their eyes meet, and Harry swears something is being communicated without words, and then Celestine speaks.

"I would advise caution." Her voice is accented similarly to her father's, but caresses the words like warm velvet, looping around the syllables almost playfully despite the seriousness of her statement.

Livius nods and turns to regard Voldemort with his lips drawn into a tight line.

"I will consider your offer. Do not return here uninvited again." He waved his hand, and guards stepped forth seemingly from nowhere to box Voldemort in again.

Tommie Boy scowled, but bowed and turned to leave without a word, escorted by his new best friends. Harry made to follow, but glanced up at the dais and met Celestine's sparkling eyes.

_**Stay.** _

He stopped on the spot, nearly overbalancing in his attempt to cease his exit from the throne room.

That wasn't his voice. That was most definitely Celestine's voice in his head.

What?

Is that a thing vampires can do?

Well. Shit.

He turned to face the throne, now nearly in the exact same spot Tom had stood. The door to the antechamber slammed shut, and Lord Livius spoke.

"I know you are there. Reveal yourself." For a moment, Harry considered trying to run, but immediately discarded the idea. Too many guards with too sensitive senses. Bloody hell, it's a miracle he made it in here unnoticed in the first place!

Fuck it, he thought. And he whipped his invisibility cloak off in one smooth motion, immediately sinking into the deepest bow he could manage without falling on his face. It wasn't as deep as he would've liked.

"Er, uhm," Great way to start off talking to vampire royalty, that is. "Lemme start by saying that I wasn't here to spy on _you._ I was spying on Voldemort." A deep laugh echoed across the throne room and, startled, Harry looked up to see Lord Livius lost in mirth. His daughter looked vaguely impressed, looking him up and down with a considering eye. Slowly, unsure of the actual protocols here, Harry straightened from his bow.

"And why did you decide to spy on the Dark Lord?" Celestine asked over her father's laughter. Harry gulped, suddenly nervous under the intensity of her stare.

"Well," He ran his hand through his hair. "I had a vision of him earlier tonight. Figured it was important, and I've got the cloak. So." He shrugged, wanting very much to break eye contact with the vampiress but somehow unable to.

"Seemed like a good idea at the time. Reconnaissance, ya know?"

Celestine smirked and inclined her head, and Harry was finally able to wrench his gaze away from hers. Distantly he was aware of how his heart was pounding in his ears, but he willfully ignored it even as his eyes inevitably landed on the other member of vampire royalty present.

Livius had stopped laughing, and was now regarding him as seriously as he had Voldemort. Oh, this doesn't bode well.

"And what exactly would you say you learned on this little reconnaissance trip of yours?" Harry tried to swallow his nerves, but they got stuck in his dry throat, and he realized how incredibly thirsty he'd gotten following Voldemort throughout the night. He shook himself and squared his shoulders.

"I know that you were about to make a terrible mistake." Livius raised a single eyebrow and motioned for him to elaborate. "Voldemort is _lying_ to you. He doesn't give a damn about your people or how the blasted ministry treats them." Harry's voice had turned to a snarl, the very real rage he feels at the ministry and Voldemort both leaking through.

"He'll use you, send you to your deaths en masse for the sake of _his_ war, and when he's won he'll _turn on you!_ " Harry stepped forward. "Voldemort only cares about _one thing_ ," Harry held up a finger for emphasis, then turned it towards- "Himself."

Livius stroked his beard, seemingly lost in thought, but his gaze never left Harry. As the moment dragged on, something in Harry clawed at his heart, and he spoke without thinking. Calmer now, but no less passionate.

"I had never seen or even _heard_ of a place like this before. I had no idea the magical world in Britain extended beyond Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, truth be told. This place feels more like a home than anywhere else I've ever been in my life, except maybe Hogwarts. It's lively and peaceful and beautiful, and I will tell you this now," His eyes hardened, and his spine turned to iron with the conviction of what he was about to say.

"Voldemort understands _none_ of these things. He will destroy this place and everyone in it as surely as he destroys everything else he touches. For your people's sake if nothing else, I implore you, _don't_ throw your lot in with him!"

Lord Livius hmm'd thoughtfully. "Tell me, how do you know the mind of Tom Riddle so well, young one?" Harry huffed out a breath through his nose.

"Experience mostly. Been bumping into the wanker since I was a year old, and he never can keep his trap shut."

"And you have lived to tell of it." Celestine murmured. "A remarkable feat indeed." Harry shrugged self consciously.

"I've gotten lucky, I won't lie, but," he huffed out a short laugh. "Yeah, I guess it is a bit remarkable."

"What would you recommend I do instead, Mr. Potter?" Harry isn't the least bit surprised he's been recognized. "My people are persecuted and hunted across the world with no safe harbor but hidden cities like this one. We cannot continue like this lest we face extinction."

"Shit," Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose, letting his eyes fall closed as he thought furiously. There really is no other option here, is there? He set his shoulders, and met Lord Livius with the most serious expression he could muster.

"I'll help you. Whatever change you need done? I'll do everything I can to make it happen so long as you don't join Voldemort." Celestine's brow furrowed in confusion.

"You would ask nothing of us in return?" She asked, clearly not believing it. Harry shook his head firmly.

"Much as I would appreciate your help in the coming war, it's not my place to ask it of you. That decision is yours and yours alone. Honestly, using my fame to accomplish some good for once would be its own reward." He chuckled, but it tapered off quickly. He could see the gears turning in both the vampires heads, and it almost worried him. They turned towards each other, eyes locking for several tense seconds, then Celestine crossed her arms and raised a single delicate brow, as if to say 'well have you got any better ideas?' Livius sucked on his lips, then turned to Harry once more.

"I have a proposition for you, Mr. Potter." The Vampire Lord leaned forward, spearing him with a look of such intensity that Harry could only nod. "We will accept your help, and your condition, if you will accept one of our own." Harry was immediately wary.

"What's your condition?"

"You will swear an oath, by blood and honor, and accept me as your sworn protector and comrade." Celestine replied, her fangs glistening as her smile stretched from ear to ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we have the first Chapter of a new project I've been working on lately. For anyone wondering why there have been no updates to Harry Potter and the Nightmare Newborn since the flurry of activity about a month ago, this is why. Or at least most of the reason. I intend to be jumping back and forth between this, HPatNN, and a third project, as the mood strikes me. Expect updates to be rather random. 
> 
> Leave your thoughts behind before you go! I live for ya'lls feedback!


	2. A Moonlit Stroll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Celestine go for a walk, make breakfast, and get to know each other along the way.

"How did you know I was there? In the throne room." Harry clarified at Celestine's questioning look.

They were in the same elevator Harry had followed Tom down earlier, headed for the catacombs above, and further; the surface and Grimmauld Place.

"Ah," Celestine smirked devilishly and it made something he couldn't identify tighten in Harry's stomach. "I heard your thoughts. _Begging_ me to tell my father not to trust Voldemort."

Harry couldn't keep the shock from showing on his face if he tried. "That's what I thought happened, the timing was too convenient, but Merlin!" He laughed. "I had no idea vampires could read minds."

"Not all of them can." She replied simply. Harry gave her his full attention.

"Any idea why that is?"

She hummed thoughtfully. "It's like any other form of magic, I suppose. Some are naturally gifted, others less so, and some lack the qualities, mental or magical, to accomplish it at all." She shrugged one shoulder, shifting her weight onto one hip, and Harry wondered why he was so conscious of her body language. He isn't like this with everyone, is he? Or has he just never noticed before?

"Luck of the draw then?"

She chuckled low in her throat. "Essentially? Yes. Although I feel that I should point out that it wasn't _I_ who read your mind, but rather _you_ who pressed your thoughts into mine."

"Wait, _really!?_ " She nodded in the affirmative and Harry reeled back on his heels. "I had no idea I could do that."

"It's an exceedingly rare talent in wizards. Foster it well and it could prove very useful in the conflict to come."

"Easy communication on the battlefield, yeah?"

"Among other things. It makes having private conversations right in front of others exceptionally straightforward." Her eyes glistened with mirth, and Harry couldn't help but smile back.

"That's what you and your dad were doing in the throne room." Her smirk becomes a full blown smile, and Harry can't help but glance at her fangs again. Up close he can really appreciate how wickedly sharp they are, and how they give her smile an edge of something - not quite sinister, but dangerous in an exciting way. Like the final moments of a Wronskei Feint; all adrenaline and focus and knowing that he could get hurt if he didn't know exactly what he was doing. In quidditch that's exactly the case, but here and now? Sharing a surprisingly candid conversation with a vampire … Princess? Dutchess? Lady?

Well, he doesn't exactly _know_ what he's doing, but if Harry knows one thing about himself it's that he learns by _doing._

"So, er, Lady Celestine-" Harry starts uncertainly, wanting to be respectful, but she immediately cuts him off as gently as she could.

"There's no need for formalities between us, Harry."

"But, you're _royalty!_ Or at least I thought you were?" He runs his hand through his hair nervously. She shrugs delicately.

"I am. After a fashion. I don't have any official titles, though 'Lady' is about as close as you could get." She looks thoughtful for a moment, before visibly shaking herself and refocusing. "Regardless. We may be oathbound now, but that doesn't mean we have to maintain any sort of formality between us if we don't want to."

Harry opens his mouth to argue the point, but the cross look she gives him has him slamming his trap shut before he says anything.

"And I most certainly do _not_ want us to be restricted by formalities. Seems silly, doesn't it?" Harry nods his head with a sigh.

"Suppose you're right. Still don't understand why _you'd_ want to swear an oath like that to begin with though." She tilts her head, regarding him with naked curiosity as the elevator finally comes to a stop.

"Do you truly not know?" Harry just shakes his head, and Celestine holds her arm out for him, like a Lady at a fancy ball.

"Walk with me." She commands. Harry has to swallow his nerves, and ignore how his hand wants to shake as he tucks her gauntleted hand into the crook of his arm. They set out, arm in arm, into the sparsely lit catacombs.

Harry realizes that Celestine is a full head taller than him, and he wonders when the growth spurt that hit Ron will find him. If it ever does.

"Harry," she starts, something soft in her silver eyes as she looks down at him. "You are young and brash." He flinched, but the way she smiled at him told him she wasn't being mean, just truthful.

He has to admit, she isn't really wrong there.

"You are also brave, honorable, and willing to fight for what you know is right at little to no gain for yourself. _That_ is why I insisted upon the path I walk with you now." Harry ducked his head in a vain attempt to hide his blush. His free hand, the one not essentially holding a vampire's hand - and what a shock to the system is _that_ thought - comes up to rub at the back of his neck.

"You have a pretty high opinion of me for having just met me." He tried to laugh it off, but she just beamed at him and squeezed his bicep encouragingly.

"You're honest with your intentions and your true self shines through because of it. The fact that you used a magical talent you _didn't even know existed_ in your desperation to keep my father and I from dooming our people says rather a lot about you on its own, don't you think?" Alright, Harry had to admit she had a point there. He grimaced and grumbled vague agreement under his breath, but she must have heard because she chuckled lowly, clearly amused.

"Honestly, if you make that kind of first impression on everyone you meet, it's a wonder to me how the Prophet can get away with printing such obvious lies about you." Harry snorted.

"The Prophet is a rag so far in the pocket of the minister that I doubt it's seen sunlight since before I was born." He drawled, much to her clear amusement. "Course, it doesn't help that I don't, er, exactly have many friends."

Why did he say that? He hunched his shoulders in, expecting pity or condescension, but to his surprise Celestine only nodded her head in clear commiseration.

"It can be difficult, for those in the public eye especially, to make true and lasting friendships. People are not often interested in truly getting to know the heart of another, let alone revealing their own." He straightened and matched her sad smile with one of his own. She gets it. She _actually_ gets it.

So often the people Harry met had some sort of preconceived notion of who he was supposed to be, whether they be magicals expecting a savior or muggles expecting a delinquent troublemaker. And in all his life he'd only been able to make two people see him for who he really is rather than the image they'd built of him in their head.

Sad thing is; Ron isn't one of them. For all his talk of being 'best mates,' Ron was as quick as everyone else to turn on him when his name came out of the goblet. Maybe he'd finally learn from his mistakes the previous year, but until Harry was _sure_ that he had?

Well, until then he only had two: his Godfather and Hermione.

Maybe he'd be adding a third before long. Celestine saw right to the heart of him almost immediately upon meeting him, and even ignoring the whole 'sworn to protect and fight with you' thing, Harry has a good feeling about her.

The silence stretched between them comfortably, but as Harry realized they'd just been staring at each other and _smiling_ for at least a solid minute he began casting his mind around for something, _anything_ to talk about.

"Hey Celestine," he started, hitting upon a genuine curiosity of his. She hummed at him, waiting for him to ask his question. "That place, that city, what is it?"

"That!" She beamed at him. "Is the Undercity. Not a terribly imaginative name, I know." She said when Harry snorted at how dead-on the name really was. "My father founded it after the city of Londinium was recaptured from Boudica by the Romans back in the mid first century A.D. It has stood unconquered ever since." There was clear pride in her voice.

Harry's mind boggled at the thought of a place being so _old_ and yet so clearly _alive._ Hogwarts is only a few centuries younger, and yet it feels nowhere near as lively as the thriving Undercity he'd glimpsed that night. Hogwarts is too empty, too dusty. Much of it is abandoned and forgotten, with only the main halls and classrooms seeing any regular traffic, while the Undercity is clean and vibrant and full of people just living their lives.

"That's incredible," Harry breathes, and it feels like an understatement. "Is it a purely vampiric city, or?" He waved his hand vaguely, as if to encompass every other possibility in one go.

"Hmm, not exactly. Ruled entirely and protected mostly by vampires, yes, but all manner of people call the Undercity home. Werewolves, clanless goblins, what remains of the free fey, two rival families of dwarves, and scores of humans, magical and otherwise, who found themselves cast out and lost, one way or the other, have found their way there. All are protected by and owe their allegiance to my father and his Legion. At last census, somewhere around thirteen thousand people call the Undercity home."

"Wow," Harry had seen it with his own eyes and yet he could hardly believe it. "Wait, muggles live in the Undercity too?"

"That depends on your definition of muggle." Harry shot her a confused look, and she hummed thoughtfully before continuing slowly. "The non-magical humans that live there can all trace their ancestry back to the squibs of magical families. Can you really call them muggles if they come from a magical heritage?"

Harry tilts his head in consideration. "I suppose not, but why did their ancestors move to the Undercity to begin with?" He's genuinely confused, and when Celestine turns to glare at nothing he's worried he's upset her somehow.

"It's _common practice_ ," she spits the words out like the vilest curse. "Among magical families to cast squibs out into the muggle world as soon as it's found that they cannot cast magic."

"What!?" Harry snarls. "How can people do that to their own family? Their _children?_ " It doesn't make any _sense!_ Family is supposed to _mean something_. Parents are supposed to do anything for their children; love them, care for them, _die for them_ , not - not _cast them out like so much trash!_

Celestine frowns, and there is a righteous fury in her eyes that mirrors the one in his heart.

"The aristocracy cares for little more than their own social, political, and economical standing, often to the exclusion of all else. And the Wizarding society is nothing _but_ the aristocracy."

"That's disgusting." Harry hisses through clenched teeth.

"Extremely," Celestine agrees, nose wrinkled as if she had smelt something utterly rancid.

"At least they have a place to go that will accept them. They deserve that much." Harry sighs, letting his anger go, so the relief he feels at the knowledge that those people weren't abandoned completely could settle in his heart.

"That they do." She must feel similarly to Harry, for she shakes her head as if casting off bad thoughts, and sends him a bright smile.

"All the better for us." She continues, smugness radiating from her like heat from a hearth. "Many of the best craftsmen and chefs in the Undercity are the squibs and their descendants, and they provide for us a strong bridge to the muggle world that the wizarding society simply lacks."

"Unity makes you stronger." Harry chuckles before sobering. "Suddenly I have the feeling that changing things without overthrowing the current regime is going to be much, _much_ harder than I originally expected." For a moment, the sheer enormity of what they had sworn to do, in blood and honor, rises up in Harry's mind like a great beast to be slain. Their own personal dragon, bloated and festering, fed always by the fearful ignorance of the public and the greed of the elite.

"We'll find a way." Celestine said simply. The easy confidence with which she said it, how naturally referring to the two of them as a team came to her, and felt to him, warmed his heart and put a spring in his step.

"Or we'll die trying!" Harry declares. He's trying to be joking, but it comes out more seriously than he expects. He doesn't take it back, doesn't really want to. What they've sworn to do is the right thing. He knows it in his heart.

The world is rotten and corrupt. Innocent people are persecuted and cast out. Changing that is something worth fighting for, and if he dies for it then so be it.

"Ya know, up until now the only fight I've had ahead of me was the one against Tommie Boy." He says idly, letting his thoughts out as they come. Celestine regards him curiously, eyes shining in the dim light of the catacombs.

"It never really felt like _my_ fight, ya know? It's my parents' fight. It's Dumbeldore's fight. It's the war of the previous generation, and yet it's found its way to me. I don't _want_ to fight it." He says vehemently, only just now realizing how true it is.

"But you don't have a choice. The fight has come to you." Celestine says sadly, a note of understanding in her voice that buoys his heart.

"Yeah." He says, voice firming with resolve. "And I'll fight it despite how much I hate it. Despite how much the thought of dying just trying to end one Dark Lord makes me feel like I'm wasting my life on something that won't even make a real difference. But this?" Harry reaches over with his free hand to cover her gauntleted fingers with his own.

"The fight we have sworn to fight _feels_ right. There's no other way to put it. It's," He huffs out a laugh, suddenly feeling ridiculous for what he's been saying. "It feels like what I'm _meant_ to do, if that makes a lick of sense."

Her other hand covers his, sandwiching it between both of hers. If she wasn't wearing armored gauntlets it'd feel incredibly intimate, Harry tells himself as he fights back a fearsome blush.

"It makes perfect sense." She says softly, silver eyes shining with compassion and strength. "I will fight and die for the sake of my people. I cannot tell you how much it heartens me to know that you feel the same as I do." Harry smiles but looks away, overwhelmed by the strength of feeling passing between them.

"It'll take some doing, and I'm sure I've got a lot to learn by the end of this, but we _will_ make it happen." She bumped him with her shoulder, and, startled, Harry met her luminescent eyes again.

"Take heart Harry. No matter how hard the path ahead, we walk it together. You aren't alone." She gave him an encouraging smile, and Harry smiled bashfully in return.

"Heh, yeah. I guess I'm not."

They walked in silence for a time, each lost in thought as they followed the lit path up and out of the catacombs. It wasn't long before they were ascending the stairs that Harry had flown down in the early hours of the night. At the top of the stairs, where Harry expected to see a wooden door or a stone wall where the hidden entrance was, was instead an inky void, just like what he had stepped through behind the hidden door.

"No blood sacrifice to get out?" He asked, hopefully. His hand had stopped bleeding but it still stung.

"No," she chuckled. "Even if there was, I wouldn't be asking you to make it." He shot her an inquiring look as they stepped through the darkness, and she elaborated.

"I can smell the blood from your wound. Don't want to exacerbate it again, do we?" She smirked at him, but Harry was distracted noticing that they weren't outside yet, but clearly inside the mausoleum that contained the secret entrance, and yet there was no stair. No inky darkness. Just an empty square room lit by a handful of sconces.

"What? Shouldn't we be outside now?"

"Not yet." She said, guiding him to the wall on their left. She pulled a pendant out of her cuirass, the same sigil on her armor, pressed it to her lips, then touched it to the wall, and the wall became the heavy wooden door he remembered. The door swung open, and she led a confused Harry with her out into the cool night air. She took a deep breath, savoring the fresh air after so long in the catacombs, and the door closed behind them, instantly becoming the base relief of what Harry now knew to be vampire knights standing watch over a group of wizards.

Could it be a depiction of the squibs coming to them for protection and acceptance? Harry thought so.

"The Writhing Shadow is vampiric magic." Celestine explained. Harry figured she was referring to the inky darkness they had had to walk through. "It acts as a sort of portal; transporting whoever steps into it from one shadowed area to another in an instant. Every entrance to the undercity is protected by one. You see," she said with a mischievous glimmer in her eye. "If you were to try and force your way in by demolishing that mausoleum over there, you'd never find the entrance, because the entrance _isn't actually there._ "

"It's only linked there by the Writhing Shadow. Clever." Harry said, truly impressed. It's a simple defense, but that's the beauty of it. Celestine hummed happily, slowly swiveling her head to take in the entirety of the cemetery.

"It occurs to me that I don't know where we are going from here. Lead on, Harry."

"Right! Uhh," he looked around, trying to remember which direction he came from. Didn't he hide behind the corner of that building over there? "This way."

In no time at all they were out of the cemetery and on the streets of London proper. Harry's ratty trainers scuffed quietly along the concrete sidewalk, while Celestine's armored boots made surprisingly little noise, though she did clink gently with every step as her armor shifted with her movement.

Under the bright yellow fluorescents of the street lights, they made their way across town towards Grimmauld Place. Even in the dead of night, London never truly slept, and so cars, little more than speeding headlights attached to dark bodies to Harry's eyes, passed the pair occasionally.

Harry wondered what the drivers thought of them. A boy in too big hand-me-downs walking down the street, arm-in-arm with a beautiful woman in gleaming armor and robes. An odder pair he doesn't think he's ever seen.

"We must make quite a sight to the muggles." He murmured to his companion. She shot him a knowing smirk.

"Oh yes, at least two of them have thought that I was going to some sort of convention or faire in the area. The rest didn't know _what_ to think." Harry laughed at that.

"Ya know, I can see it. Though I think you'd turn heads even at a convention." Where did that come from? Celestine laughed and squeezed his arm, and the two lapsed into silence once more.

Eventually they turned a corner, and Harry could see number twelve just down the road.

"We're heading just there," he pointed with his free hand. "To num- To number-" But every time he tried to say it he choked on the words. What the hell?

Wait.

"Oh bollocks, I forgot about the fidelius!"

"You're staying under fidelius?" Harry only nodded, fuming at himself for forgetting that not so insignificant fact. What the hell are they supposed to do now?

"Tell me about the place you're staying, and walk me to the ward line if you can." Celestine commanded. Harry huffed, more agitated with himself than anything else, but agreed.

"It's the ancestral home of the Black family. My godfather is loaning it to Dumbledore to use as Headquarters for his Order of the Phoenix. It was Dumbledore that put it under fidelius, and he made himself the secret keeper." Wait a tick, something about that doesn't seem right.

"Why wouldn't Sirius be the secret keeper of his own house? For that matter, why wasn't one of my parents their own secret keeper?" He muttered to himself.

"If I remember correctly, the secret keeper of a fidelius charm cannot reside within the fidelius permanently. Something to do with storing the secret within itself that breaks the laws of magic."

"Well, alright. That makes sense." Still, it irked him. If that one thing was different, then his parents wouldn't have been forced to trust fucking _Wormtail_ of all people and they'd still be alive. The first buzzing of the ward line hit him, and Celestine came to a dead stop not a foot away from the steps to Number Twelve.

"Hmm, I can feel the wards." She muttered distractedly.

"So can I." He held his hand out, closing his eyes to appreciate the feel of magic crawling across his skin in so many subtle ways he lacked the words to describe.

"You can?" He opened his eyes and found Celestine looking at him with naked surprise on her face.

"Well, yeah. Let me guess: not everyone can." She nodded her head, something shrewd and calculating entering her eyes as she looked at him. "So, why is it unusual for me specifically to be able to sense wards?"

"It's a skill that usually takes wizards years, if not decades, to master. Even then, not many have the magical sensitivity to do it at all. That you can do it so young, and without thought, makes me wonder about your heritage."

"Whaddya mean?" He tilted his head curiously. "Is this something like parseltongue?"

"I _suppose_ it could be a family trait, but I've never heard of any wizarding families having such natural sensitivity. It's something you typically only see in goblins, centaurs, and vampires."

"Well," Harry said, making a show of looking down at himself in exaggerated fashion. "I don't think I'm any of those." He finished with a cheeky grin. Celestine rolled her eyes and smacked his chest playfully.

"I can see that you don't have any goblin or centaur blood in you. That's obvious. But vampire blood? It's possible."

"Wait, really? But, if I was descended from vampires wouldn't I just, ya know? _Be_ a vampire?"

"Not necessarily." She said thoughtfully, then glanced away over the buildings to the east. "But perhaps we should focus on getting inside. The sun will be rising soon." Harry looked and sure enough, the eastern sky was turning pink with the first light of dawn. A fissure of icy fear lanced into Harry's heart.

"Fuck! Alright, have you got any ideas? Cuz somehow I doubt Dumbledore is gonna let you in on the secret even if I _could_ contact him in time." It took serious effort to keep his sudden panic from showing in his voice, and Harry isn't sure he totally succeeded.

"Just one." She held her hand out, palm forward, and Harry didn't know _how_ but he knew that she was pressing in on the wards of Number Twelve.

"Wards do not layer so much as they interweave themselves," she explained as her fingers twitched and Harry felt something _shift_ in the wards in response. "They all affect the same thing, the same space, defined by the same dimensions and thought at the moment of their casting. _Ahhh, there you are,_ " she purred the last, and gave a final twist and wrench with her hand, and the wards rippled gently, then lay still once more.

Celestine opened her eyes, and stepped forward, dragging Harry with her. Right through the ward line, and through the fidelius, and right up to the door of Number Twelve. She turned to him with a beatific look of triumph, and Harry couldn't help but look at her with something akin to awe in his eyes.

"How the hell did you _do_ that!? The fidelius is supposed to be impregnable!" She laughed outright as she opened the door and pulled him inside, kicking the door shut behind them.

"I know the Black family's reputation for dabbling in unusual and powerful magic, and I suspected they would have some sort of blood ward tied to their property. I was right." She looked almost smug, and Harry barked a laugh as he put her explanations together.

"So because wards intermingle with each other-"

"I was able to key myself into the blood wards, and through them, the fidelius." They laughed together, almost falling into each other in their mirth.

"You're bloody _brilliant_ , ya know that?" He managed to get out between guffaws.

"Well, it's nothing really," she said in obviously false modesty. "I've only had a little more than two millenia to learn." She finished, lips twitching as she fought to keep from grinning from ear to ear. Harry wasn't sure he'd heard right.

"Wait, are you really-" The curtains around Walburga's portrait flew open, and the disturbed hag immediately launched into a screaming rant that shook the walls, and made Harry slap his hands over his ears instinctually from how mind-numbingly _loud_ and _shrill_ she could be.

"Fucks sake! Will you shut up, woman!" Harry yelled, grabbing the flailing curtains and trying to force them shut. They fought him every inch of the way, but he was making progress. Agonizingly slow progress, but progress nonetheless.

Celestine stepped up next to him, pressed a single finger against Walburga's forehead, and commanded: " **Pax vobis.** " in a low, threatening growl. Instantly, Walburga silenced. Her face went slack, and the curtains stopped fighting him.

He pulled them shut at once.

"We really need to figure out how to remove this blasted portrait before it deafens us. Or drives us mad." He muttered to himself. "Thanks for the help. What was that spell you used there? Would be good to know it in the future."

"It wasn't a spell exactly," she started, then tilted her head consideringly in his direction. "Though with the aptitude for telepathy you showed earlier, you'd probably be able to do it with some practice."

"Wicked! But if it wasn't a spell, then what…" He trailed off, letting his question hang.

"A telepathic command. One of the other uses of the skill I hinted at earlier." She smirked at him.

"Right useful that'll be. You'll have to show me how that works. Later though, right now I'm bloody _starving_ and everyone else will be waking up soon, if the hag didn't wake them up already. I may as well get a head start on breakfast. C'mon." He turned and headed for the kitchen, waving for her to follow him. By the quiet clinking of her armor, she did.

Once in the kitchen Harry headed straight for the wizarding equivalent to a refrigerator. Now that he thought about it, he had no idea what they were called. Coolers? Ice box? He pulled out a dozen eggs, a pound of bacon, and some butter and set them on the counter, then bent down to root around the cupboards looking for potatoes.

"Do you normally make breakfast for everyone?" Celestine asked from somewhere behind him.

"No," he let out a little "Aha!" when he found the potatoes. He grabbed a couple and set them in the sink, then turned the water on to wash them.

"No," he said again. "Missus Weasley usually makes breakfast when she's around." He pulled out drawers until he found a halfway decent paring knife and set to work peeling the potatoes into the bin. Breakfast always puts the Weasley's and Sirius in a good mood, and he intends to use that today.

"Why do you ask?"

"You just seem rather comfortable in the kitchen, like it's something you're used to doing. A comfortable routine." Harry frowned at the potato he was peeling.

"Yeah, suppose that's true. I do most of the cooking for my relatives when I'm staying with them." Celestine leaned her hip up against the counter next to him, regarding him with shrewd silver eyes that left him feeling too exposed.

"You're awfully young to be cooking for an entire family." She said eventually, in a tone that Harry thought could _almost_ pass for neutrality. Harry snorted, putting a bit more force behind the peeling than he really ought to as he replied.

"Yeah, well, my relatives aren't exactly good people, ya kno-OH FUCK!" The potato he was working on slipped in his too tight grip, and the knife bit deep into the side of his thumb. He dropped the potato into the sink alongside the knife, and brought his hand up to his face to appraise the damage he'd done.

Blood welled from an inch long gash right between the base and knuckle of his thumb and ran down his hand. Harry hissed through his teeth and went to suck the wound into his mouth, but Celestine's hands shot out, drawing his wounded hand away from his face and towards her own.

"Celestine!" He gasped out. She leaned over his hand, breathing deep, eyes shut. A pleased hum came from between her lips, followed in short order by a long, thin tongue. It ran from his wrist, over his palm, and across the cut in one swipe, collecting all the blood in it's way. She shuddered, mouth open, breathing hard less than an inch away from his skin. Her breath washed over the cut, warm and oddly soothing.

Harry hadn't expected her to be warm. He'd really thought vampires would be cool to the touch.

In the space between one breath and the next, Celestine's lips descended on his cut, sucking firmly but gently to draw as much vitae as she could from him without hurting him further.

Distantly, Harry thought he ought to be more concerned with what was happening. A literal vampire was latched onto his hand and drinking his blood! But even as he tried to muster some sense of alarm or indignation, he found himself mostly … intrigued.

It didn't hurt. If it did he might have tried to stop her or pull away. If anything, it tingled in an oddly pleasant way. Like he could feel the buzz of magic in her lips, vibrating against his skin where they touched. It made his heart race and his mouth go dry.

She swiped her tongue across the cut twice in rapid succession, and something in his stomach _clenched_ , then pulled away from his hand with little _pop!_

"There," she said breathlessly. "Good as new!" And sure enough, when he looked it was like he had never cut himself. On the thumb at least. The crusted up slash he made in his palm was still there, looking even worse after reopening it for the blood oath, and it got him thinking.

She was smiling at him, but it was a wobbly thing, clearly unsure if she had overstepped some sort of boundary with him. Worried that she might have damaged their newfound trust in each other in a moment of weakness. Without really meaning to, he found himself saying:

"Anything you can do for that other cut?" He glanced at it and back to her face, and saw something bloom in her eyes that nearly took his breath away.

"If you'd like me to," she purred, voice like velvet. Harry swallowed. Twice. But words still failed him, so he just nodded his head.

"This might sting a bit," she warned. "I'll have to break off the scab." Still unable to make his throat form syllables, Harry just nodded again, trying to tell her with his eyes that he trusted her and it was okay.

She seemed to get what he was trying to say.

Leaning down, she pressed her lips to the wound on his palm in a soft kiss that sent Harry's already rapid heartbeat into erratic palpitations. Her lips pulled back, and she scraped her fangs along his palm, gentle as can be, sending electricity arcing up his arm and right down his spine, catching the scab and tearing it off.

It stung a little, but the pain was overshadowed by the pleasant buzz of her magic, and the feeling of soft lips pressing against his hand. She let out a pleased little hum that sent a rush of heat through him.

He had no idea what drinking blood was like for vampires, but he imagined it had to be pleasurable in some way. At least like how eating a good meal is satisfying, maybe even drug-like in its intensity. Either way, It must be driving her up the wall only being able to get such a little taste of him. The thought occurred to him that he could tell her not to worry about hurting him. Tell her to not worry about aggravating the wound before whatever she did healed it. Tell her that she could sink her fangs into his wrist and drink her fill of him.

_Merlin_ , he really shouldn't want her to bite him. Right? _Right?_

While he struggled with his indecision, Celestine was swiping her tongue along the cut and pulling away to reveal perfectly clean, unmarked skin where once there was a sizable gash.

She was panting, holding his hand close to her chest, thumbs rubbing circles into his wrist and palm seemingly without thought.

"Thank you, Harry." Gleaming silver eyes opened and speared him to the floor with their intensity. " _Thank you._ "

Harry swallowed convulsively. "Shouldn't I be thanking you?" He managed to force out after a moment. She shook her head, looking away from his eyes to inspect his hand in hers.

When she didn't speak for several seconds, Harry summoned his Gryffindor courage, and said: "Did I taste good?" She chuckled lowly, and the sound sent a shiver up his spine.

" _Too good_ ," she purred, glancing up at him from under her lashes. "And that's exactly why I should be thanking _you._ " Harry felt his face heat and ducked his head, free hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

"No worries," he said quickly. "And, uh," -what the fuck are you thinking don't say it- "If you ever want more, all ya gotta do is ask." Sweet buggering _Merlin_ what possessed him to say that!?

She chuckled and reluctantly allowed his hand to drop. "I'll keep that in mind." She smirked at him, and for a long moment they just looked at each other. His heart, which had begun to calm, didn't speed up, but it seemed to beat harder every second they stared into each other's eyes.

"Right," he practically squeaked the word out, so he cleared his throat and tried again. "Yeah, uh, ya wanna help me with breakfast?" He jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the halfway prepared meal he had nearly forgotten entirely.

"Maybe I ought to finish peeling the potatoes, hmm?" She teased as she used her hip to bump him out of the way and get at the potatoes herself.

Harry laughed and held his hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright! I'll have you know that I'm usually much less prone to accidents when making breakfast." He grabbed a massive skillet and the butter and brought both over to the stove. Medium flame, butter in, wait for it to melt and pretty soon they'll have a heaping pile of eggs that even Vernon-

Nope, _nope_. Not gonna think about them.

"Is that so?" Celestine snarked. "Damn, and here I was hoping to get a special _treat_ every morning." Harry blushed so hard he nearly dropped the egg he was about to crack into the pan.

"Well, I mean, shit," he murmured under his breath. "Ya still can, if you really want." Wait, shit, how good are vampires hearing? He shot her a glance, and that damnable smirk told him she heard every word of that. Oh, Merlin preserve me, he thought.

Harry cleared his throat, and asked the first question to pop into his head in a desperate bid to change the topic. "Can you, vampires I mean, eat normal- er, _human_ food?"

He busied himself with thoroughly scrambling the eggs rather than look at whatever expression that complete mess of a sentence brought to her face.

"I can, actually. Vampires need blood to survive, but we need to eat normal food as much as anyone else too. And this breakfast of yours is shaping up to be absolutely _scrumptious._ " Harry groaned as quietly as he could, but she must have still heard because her melodic laugh rang out across the kitchen immediately after.

"Yeah yeah, keep teasing poor ol' Harry. Gonna send him round the bend at this rate." There was no real venom in his voice and they both knew it. He's enjoying himself too much to really want to stop at this point.

"You're too easy, darling," she said as she sidled up next to him at the stove, a pan of perfectly minced potatoes going on one burner while another was set up for the bacon he'd grabbed earlier.

He'd completely forgotten the bacon.

And now his brain went completely to pot at the way her voice curled around the word, as she oh so casually called him ' _darling._ '

"The eggs are about to burn." She said conversationally, and Harry realized he'd just been standing there, utterly lost and mindless, for way too long. With a start he also realized she was right. He gave the eggs one last good scramble and set them aside, moving the bacon pan in front of him so he would have something to focus on.

They didn't say anything for a time. Harry focused himself on the familiar task of cooking bacon; using a fork to peel the raw strips away and laying them one by one into the hot pan with a sizzle. Moving them around occasionally to make sure they don't stick. Flip and repeat. It was almost meditative, and soon he was so totally relaxed that he was humming under his breath as he cooked.

Celestine bumped him with her hip, and when he turned to give her a questioning look she just smiled contently at him. He beamed back at her and went back to humming while he fried the bacon. She swayed gently to the tune of his humming.

In short order they had a pretty decent spread of breakfast foods lined up on the dining table: eggs and bacon, hash browns, toast, a fresh pot of coffee and another of tea, for those that prefer one or the other, and orange juice. All set out and ready to go in the specially enchanted serving platters Sirius had pointed out a while back. No worrying about the food going cold. Or warm, in the case of the juice.

"Not quite a full English, but not bad for such short notice and on absolutely zero sleep." Harry smiled, pleased with their efforts, but even more pleased with how easily they worked together. It's a small thing, making breakfast together, but if they can do everything so seamlessly as that? It certainly bodes well for the future.

"You'll have to get some rest after we eat." Celestine said, a hint of concern leaking into her tone.

"I won't argue with that," he said as he fought back a yawn. "I'm beat, if I'm honest with ya. Although," here he sighed. "Missus Weasley probably won't be letting me get a wink of sleep today if I have my bet."

"Is that right?" There was a glint of challenge in her eye.

"Yeah," Harry breathed out tiredly. "She can be," he paused, looking for the right way to describe Missus Weasley's unique brand of overbearing parenting. "Well, she can be a bit much, and I don't think she, or _any_ of the adults for that matter, are gonna be well pleased with me this morning."

"Hmm, well either way; have a seat. We can eat now and worry about all that after."

"Good thinking," he agreed, taking a seat near the head of the table. Celestine sat across from him, and he watched interestedly as she undid the straps holding her gauntlets on and slid them off. Her hands are small, almost delicate but not quite, with short, slightly pointed nails. When he finds himself watching her pick up her silverware with rapt attention he has to shake himself out of his stupor.

Focus, Harry. Focus.

He picks up his own silverware and they both tuck in with relish. They eat in peaceful silence for the most part, occasionally exchanging looks and short words about how good the food turned out. It's when Harry is just polishing off his toast and considering getting a second helping that Celestine stiffens in her chair.

"Someone's coming." She popped the last of her bacon into her mouth. A moment later Harry heard someone coming down the stairs. He checked his watch: almost a quarter after six in the morning.

"Probably Missus Weasley." Breathing deep in an effort to center himself, Harry gathers up his and Celestine's plates and deposits them in the sink before returning to his seat.

The door to the kitchen opens, and in walks Missus Weasley, already dressed and ready for the day. She stops in her tracks the moment she lays eyes on him.

"Oh, Harry! What are you doing up so early?"

Harry takes another deep breath, unsure of how well this is going to go. He gestures in front of him, at the food on the table, and more so at Celestine.

"We were just making breakfast, Missus Weasley." He says very deliberately.

"We? Well- Oh!" She finally noticed Celestine sat across from Harry, and he was sure he wasn't imagining the tightening around her eyes, or the false note in the saccharine sweetness that dripped into her voice after.

"And who is this, Harry?" Celestine cocked a single eyebrow up at not being asked herself, but otherwise didn't let the irritation she felt at the slight show.

"Missus Weasley, this is Celestine. Celestine, Missus Weasley." He made appropriate hand gestures as he introduced the two. He noticed Missus Weasley's hand sneaking under her apron where she kept her wand.

"She's a friend." He said simply, hoping that that would be enough. Missus Weasley's smile, already fake, became quite fixed.

"Is that right dearie? And where did you meet this new friend of yours?" She pulled her wand, but let it point casually at the floor for the moment. Celestine glanced at it, then cocked her head as she regarded the homely redheaded woman.

"Thats, heh, that's a bit of a story, Missus Weasley. Now if you'd be so kind as to put your wand away and sit down, we've made breakfast and it's never good to have these kinds of talks on an empty stomach, is it?" He recalls Missus Weasley using this very line on her husband on more than one occasion, and he hopes that it'll work on her now.

To his dismay, it doesn't.

Missus Weasley narrows her eyes and her wand gives the subtlest of flicks at her side. The door locks with an audible click. Celestine draws in a sharp breath and calmly puts her gauntlets back on. Harry looks between the two with wide eyes, not entirely sure what to say to defuse the situation.

"Be that as it may, Harry." Missus Weasley says, stepping towards him as if to try and shield him from Celestine's presence through sheer proximity. "I must know how she got in the house. She's not on the list of _approved guests,_ now is she?"

Harry opens his mouth but nothing comes out. It feels like there's a hand squeezing his heart and choking away his ability to speak. He shoots Celestine a pleading look, and she gives him a subtle nod.

"Obviously I am an approved guest," she says calmly and quietly, but without ever once looking away from the witch edging ever closer to her and Harry. "How else would I be here? That _is_ how the fidelius works, isn't it?" That brings Missus Weasley up short. Harry has to stop himself from cheering. Instead he just nods his head enthusiastically.

"Like I said Missus Weasley, Celestine is my friend. I trust her." Celestine's eyes flicker to him and away so fast he almost doesn't notice it. "You've got nothing to worry about." His attempt at soothing backfires. Missus Weasley's nostrils flare, and she raises her wand to point right between Celestine's eyes.

"SHE'S A RUDDY VAMPIRE!" Celestine stands up so fast her chair goes tumbling behind her, drawing her sword in one smooth, easy motion. "SHE'S BEWITCHED YOU! LET HIM GO YOU _LEECH!_ " Celestine hisses, baring her fangs at the slur.

"Missus Weasley no!" Harry leaps up, forcefully grabbing the Weasley matron's arm and wrenching her aim up and away from Celestine just as a spell he didn't recognize rocketed out from her wand. She fought him, but he planted himself between the two of them like a tree. She shoves at him with all her might, but he sees it coming and braces himself, pushing back hard enough to send her back a step.

"Get out of the way Harry! This is for your own good!"

"The hell it is Missus Weasley! I'm telling you! I'm not being controlled! She hasn't done anything to me!"

The door to the kitchen opens and Sirius strolls in, casual as anything, muttering to himself. "Now why was the door locked?" He stopped, taking in the sight of Harry trying to wrestle Missus Weasley's wand away from her to protect some woman he'd never seen before.

"The hell's going on here?"

"Sirius help! She's trying to hurt Celestine!" Harry says at the same time Missus Weasley screeches.

"VAMPIRE! A VAMPIRE HAS GOTTEN ITS CLAWS INTO HARRY!"

A spell slams into them, forcefully separating them. Harry slams hard into the table, and before he registers what's happening, arms are wrapping around his waist and heaving him over the table and into a tall, armored body. There's a buzz across his skin, and he can feel something taking shape around him. The edges of his vision are filled with a hazy red smoke that recedes whenever he tries to look at it. It feels like a ward, or maybe some sort of shield spell.

Meanwhile, Missus Weasley stumbles back into the counter, her wand flying into the waiting hand of his Godfather.

"Alright, so-" Sirius starts but is immediately overrun by Missus Weasley.

"SIRIUS YOU BUFFOON! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!? GIVE ME BACK MY WAND WE HAVE TO DEAL WITH THE MONSTER BEFORE -" Sirius slashes his wand at her and she goes instantly silent. Her lips keep moving, and her face takes on a shade of puce that reminds Harry of his uncle in all kinds of uncomfortable ways.

" _As I was saying,_ " his godfather bites out through clenched teeth at Missus Weasley, before turning to Harry and continuing in a softer tone. "What's going on here, pup?"

Harry swallows, opens his mouth, shuts it again, then his eyes, and leans weakly back into the vampire holding him up. Fuck, but this couldn't really have gone any worse than it has, has it? What the _hell_ is he going to say? How does he explain this?

"Be strong, Harry." Celestine whispers in his ear. "Just tell him the truth."

"Right," Harry breathes out shakily. He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. Sirius is looking at him with plain concern in his eyes, but no fear, and none of the strange rage that took hold of Missus Weasley.

"So, here's what happened." From the protective circle of Celestine's arms and magic, Harry tells his godfather all about his eventful night, or at least the broad strokes; from the vision that sent him following Voldemort, to the oaths they have sworn, right up until moments ago when Missus Weasley entered the room and things went so wrong so fast. All the while, Missus Weasley watched, arms crossed, mouth a thin line of displeasure, trying to disintegrate them where they stood with her eyes.

"I don't understand," Harry nearly whimpered, and Celestine's arms tightened reflexively around him. He continued, voice small and scared. "Missus Weasley has been nothing but kind to me and all my friends. Why would she try and hurt Celestine?"

"She could have never hurt me, darling. I promise you that." Celestine murmurs comfortingly in his ear, and that does make him feel better. A tightness he hadn't realized was there in his gut loosens and he feels like he can breathe again.

Sirius sighs tiredly, rubbing his hand over his face. Without looking at her, he says, "Molly, leave." She puts her hands on her hips and firms her stance, refusing to leave. Sirius lets his hands drop and glares at her.

"I'm not asking, Molly, I'm telling. Get the fuck out of my kitchen! I need to have a talk with my godson and Lady Celestine." He holds his glare unrelentingly, clearly beyond upset with the Weasley matriarch. Eventually, she stomps up to him and holds her hand out expectantly.

Sirius makes a show of putting her wand in his pocket. "You'll get this back once you've cooled off. Now, _go_." He jerks his head at the door. Clearly seething and wanting desperately to yell and screech, but physically unable to, Missus Weasley storms out the door, slamming it behind her hard enough that it makes Harry flinch.

Celestine notices and murmurs soft sounds of reassurement into his ear that might be words, but Harry can't quite focus on them at the moment.

Sirius flicks his wand at the door and it locks with an audible click. Harry swallows noisily. Celestine stiffens against his back. Noticing Harry's unease and the tenseness of his companion, Sirius holds up his hands in surrender, speaking in a steady, calm voice.

"Just some privacy charms and a one-way locking charm to make sure Molly stays away until she cools off. I'm not trying to trap either of you." Harry relaxes immediately, nearly slumping in Celestine's arms, before his position finally catches up with him and he straightens, face heating up with mortification.

"Now," Sirius continues in that same calming way. "Let's all sit down, relax, and we can talk, yeah? Nothing to worry about." Harry nods his head, then turns to give the vampire behind him a reassuring smile.

"I'm alright now, you can let me go." She searches his eyes for a long moment, and he holds her gaze and his smile. As close as they are now, Harry can see every little nuance of color in her eyes. To call them simply silver is a gross oversimplification. Here and there are flecks of sapphire, set in liquid silver streaked with shadows that swirled and shifted before his very eyes, and under it all the incandescent quality he's quickly coming to find oddly comforting. Her eyes are like the stars themselves; taken from the night sky and condensed down into shining silver glass suspended in a void of perfect, formless black.

She's utterly mesmerizing.

She must see what she's looking for, because she unwinds her arms from around him, letting the ward she wove around them dissipate as she guides him into a chair. She sidles around him to sit on his left, between him and the kitchen door. The protectiveness of the move is not lost on Harry.

Sirius watches all this with a faint smile tugging at his beard before moving to sit across from the two of them. He sinks into his seat with a groan.

"Do either of you mind if I help myself to some of this wonderful breakfast you two prepared?"

Harry shakes his head, and Celestine says: "Help yourself." With a wave of her gauntleted hand.

"Thanks," his godfather says as he loads up his plate. "I'm not the best at conversation, the serious ones anyway, on an empty stomach."

Harry chuckles softly, leaning his elbows on the table. "Explains why you were so bad at explaining yourself when we first met." He said, a hint of fondness underpinning the teasing in his voice.

Sirius barked out a short laugh. "Merlin, what a day that was! Has he told you that story yet?" He asked Celestine, and she shook her head. "It's a good one, but now's not the time." He piled some eggs and bacon on a piece of toast and took a healthy bite. His eyes switched between his godson and his godson's vampiric protector/partner contemplatively as he ate. Harry watched him eat, and took in the way his pajamas draped over his form, how his collar bone seemed too sharp, his cheeks still too hollow, how even cleaned up with a new haircut and trimmed beard he could still see the half-mad Azkaban escapee hiding just under his godfather's skin, and he worried.

Celestine watched his godfather with the same intensity he did, and Harry wondered if she saw what he did.

Sirius pushed his half finished plate away from him. "Alright, that's enough for now. Harry?" He perked up, meeting his godfather's eyes steadily. "Shite, pup, do you have any idea how much of a big deal last night really was?"

"Er, well to be honest I haven't really had time to think about it, no." He admitted shamefully, but Sirius waved his concern away.

"Not your fault, pup. It's been a helluva night by the sound of it. Can't really blame you for not having time to unpack it all yet. Do you know why Molly reacted how she did?" Harry looked into his godfather's troubled grey eyes, and nodded. He did understand now, after having a few minutes to calm down and think about it rationally, without the strange fear that gripped him earlier freezing his thoughts before they could form.

"Vampires aren't considered people in the wizarding world." He muttered venomously, hands clenched into fists where they rested on the table, unable to hide how much that fact rankled him.

"She didn't see _Celestine._ All she saw was a creature that needed dealing with. Like a fucking _boggart_." Celestine's hand drifted over to his knee under the tale, thumb rubbing soothing circles. When did she take her gauntlets off again? He wondered.

Sirius nodded. "You're spot on. Which is good, because that means you understand the difficulty the two of you will face moving forward." He leaned on the table, grey eyes completely serious. "Most witches and wizards think the way Molly does. Well, not in general, but about vampires. Granted, I don't expect most of them will have the wherewithal to draw their wand and accuse her outright of manipulating you-"

"She's not manipulating me, Sirius! You've got to-"

"I believe you, pup, don't worry. I'm on your side. Always." He reached across the table to cover Harry's hands with his own. "There's not much I can do for you, with the way things are." His face twisted, something like self-loathing stealing across his features before it was gone again. "But no matter what, I've got your back, Harry."

Harry ducked his head, trying not to let Sirius see how he was blinking back tears. Sirius squeezed his hands, and quite without thinking about it, Harry turned his hands over to grab hold of Sirius'.

"Thank you, Sirius. I've been so _worried_ about how people would react, and I-" He bit his lip, shutting his eyes tight against the tears that he refused to let fall.

"I was so scared that you'd hate me." He finally managed to get out in a voice so small and weak that it made him flinch at himself.

"Hate you?" Sirius sounded so honestly bewildered that Harry had to look at him. The moment he opened his eyes, the tears he'd fought so hard brimmed and fell down his cheeks. Sirius's confusion melted away, replaced with a heart rending affection that had Harry gripping his hands even tighter.

"I could never hate you, pup." He declared. "I've made my mistakes," a shadow of the self-loathing he'd seen before was there and gone in the blink of an eye. "And I don't intend on making anymore. I love you, Harry." Harry's heart stuttered in his chest, and for a moment he thought he'd heard wrong. He looked at Sirius with wide, searching eyes. Sirius kept talking, but Harry couldn't hear him over the blood rushing in his ears.

"No one's ever told me they loved me before." He didn't mean to say it out loud, but in his shock it slipped out in a barely there murmur. Sirius stopped, teeth coming together with an audible _clack_. Devastated grey eyes pierced him to his core, and Harry wanted to shrink in on himself.

Beside him, Celestine jerked as if she'd been hit by a particularly hard stinging hex, turning to give him a searching look. He met her with his own shell shocked expression, and her shock quickly gave way to a practiced blankness that didn't quite hide the rage simmering in her eyes.

Sirius came barreling around the table, arms going around Harry desperately as he fell to his knees before his godson.

"I'm sorry, pup. I'm so, so sorry." Harry wasn't sure what Sirius was apologizing for, so he wrapped his arms around him in return. He could feel every ridge in Sirius' spine and ribcage, and again he worried for his godfather's health. Sirius lurched in his arms, and with a start Harry realized that Sirius was sobbing quietly into his neck.

"Sirius, no." He held his godfather tighter, not sure what else to do.

"I love you too. It's alright, Sirius. I love you too." His throat tightened, and this time he didn't try to fight the tears as they came.

"You're the only- the _only_ family I've got, of course I love you too. Ya just shocked me is all." He tried to laugh, but it came out wet and far too sharp to be anything other than a sob.

Sirius wailed, an awful, agonized sound that had Harry casting his eyes about for Celestine. He can't do this by himself, he doesn't know what's wrong or how to _help-_

Then she was in front of him, luminous pools of silver a reassuring sight. She smiled encouragingly, and her voice whispered across his mind, slow and sweet like honey.

_You're doing great, Harry. Don't think about things too much, just do what feels right._

He blinked and she was gone. No, not gone, still sat where she has been this whole time. Had that been an illusion? Or could she actually move that fast?

Harry shook off those idle questions to focus on his Godfather. He wondered at what to say for several long moments, before deciding 'sod it' and asking the only question he could get a firm grasp of.

"Sirius, what's wrong?" He asked as gently as he could. "I can't help if I don't know what's wrong." Sirius laughed wetly, pulling back to look at his godson with puffy eyes.

"You sounded like your mother just now." Before Harry could appreciate being compared to his mother for the first time in his life on top of everything else, Sirius continued. "And ain't that a bloody _miracle!_ " He shook his head despondently, a manic sort of grief chasing his tears away and replacing them with loathing.

"You should have never gone to the Dursley's. I was supposed to take care of you. I was supposed to _raise you_. I was _supposed_ to put you ahead of everything else, and I let Hagrid take you so I could go chasing after revenge." Seemingly spent, his head fell and his voice went quiet. "I failed you. It's my fault that you ended up with _them_. My fault that you weren't told you were loved until now. It's _all my fault._ "

"Sirius, stop." He grabbed him by the shoulders, craning his head down to catch his Godfather's eyes.

"You didn't put me with the Dursley's. Dumbledore did. It's not your fault."

"But I _trusted_ him."

"Just like my parents trusted Wormtail." That seemed to bring him up short. "And just like Wormtail, Dumbledore betrayed that trust by leaving me with my relatives. You can't have known what happened was what _would_ happen."

"But, I-"

"No one's perfect Sirius." Harry cut him off. "Why did you escape Azkaban?" The non-sequitur threw Sirius for a loop, and it took him a moment to answer.

"Because… I saw Peter in the paper, and it said that the boy holding him was your friend and dormmate, and I thought you were in danger."

"Sirius," Harry started, a fond amazement obvious in his every word. "You escaped an inescapable prison at the first hint that I was in any sort of danger. You haven't failed me; you've done the impossible _for_ me. If that isn't exactly what a Godfather should be doing, then I don't know what is."

Sirius, wide eyed and mouth hanging open, barked out a laugh even as more tears rolled down his cheeks.

"Merlin, pup, you're just like your mom." And he crushed Harry against him again. "Don't ever change, you hear me?" Harry wound his arms around his Godfather as tight as he could.

"Only if you promise to stop blaming yourself. We can't build a future together if you're stuck in the past." Sirius barked out another laugh, one filled with pain and love in equal measure. After a moment he pulled away, holding Harry at arms length.

"Alright Harry. You've got yourself a deal."

"You swear?"

"By blood and honor, pup, by blood and honor."

"Good!" Harry started cheerfully. "I wanna hear your plan to get your name cleared by weeks end." Sirius' eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to protest, but stopped when Harry yawned, loud and long.

"You're exhausted," Sirius stated, remembering that Harry hadn't gotten a lick of sleep the previous night. "Let's get you to bed." And he pulled Harry to his feet.

"What about Celestine?" Harry asked, before turning to the vampire to ask her: "Wait, do you even need to sleep?" She rose from her chair, a tender smile turning up the corners of her lips.

"I can go for without longer than a human can, but I could use some rest."

"Right," Harry said, then turned back to Sirius expectantly. Sirius shook his head, but he was smiling so Harry figured he was just amused.

"There are a slew of unused guest bedrooms on the second floor. Finally got the useless lump to clean them out the other day." Sirius and Harry both rolled their eyes at Kreacher's near uselessness. "She can take her pick of the lot."

"Great," Harry wormed his way out of Sirius' hold. "I'll show her the way, you go ahead and finish your breakfast."

"You sure?" Even as he asked, his eyes darted back to his half finished plate and stayed there.

"Course I'm sure. We'll talk more later, yeah?" Harry was already heading for the door, motioning for Celestine to follow him.

"Of course, pup. Anytime." The smile Sirius threw his way was so heart-breakingly genuine that Harry couldn't help but smile back as they slipped out the kitchen door and into the hall beyond. The door closed behind them, and Harry blew out a breath; beyond relieved that at least Sirius was on his side, and as an odd side effect he'd been able to help his Godfather with something that must've been bothering him for years.

"God, that was a lot." He muttered to himself.

"Are you alright?" Celestine asked him, brow furrowed in concern.

"Yeah," and he meant it. Despite everything that happened in that kitchen, Harry felt surprisingly good. "Just tired. And, well, I worry about Sirius." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"He hates it here, and I know it gets to him. He hasn't been taking care of himself as well as he should." His brows pinched together in concern. Celestine hummed sympathetically.

"It's a good thing he has you here to remind him." She remarked. Harry snorted.

"Yeah, but who's gonna remind _me_?" He jokes, but Celestine raises a single sardonic eyebrow, as if to say: 'oh yes, who ever indeed?' Harry laughs self-deprecatingly. "Yeah, alright, I should've known. Bloody oathbound vampires." He muttered playfully.

"Don't even pretend you don't like me, darling." She purred back, and Harry blushed and stammered for a second before deciding to just move on and pretend that his heart hadn't reacted forcefully to her teasing.

"Stairs are this way." Without really thinking about it, he held his arm out for her to take. She did, the smooth skin of her fingers brushing over his forearm as she looped their arms together. Her magic buzzed just under her skin, and where they touched it sparked pleasantly. Harry had to shake himself before he could focus enough to actually lead her anywhere.

By some stroke of luck, no one else was up yet, and Missus Weasley was nowhere to be seen, so they made it to the guest wing in short order.

"The first few rooms are taken at the moment," he told her as he led her down the hall.

"Which room is yours?" Celestine was appraising the decor as they walked, and finding it wanting by the look on her face.

"That one," Harry pointed to a door as they passed it. "I share with Ron, which seems odd now that I think about it. Plenty of space in this place, especially now that the rest of the guest wing is cleaned out. That's the loo," he pointed to another door, roughly in the middle of the long hall, as they passed it.

"The girls like to get to it early, so if you want a shower or anything before bed you'd best do it now." He warned semi-seriously. Celestine hummed thoughtfully but didn't say anything.

"And from here, all the rest of the rooms are empty. Take your pick." He gestured down the hall, where five more guest suites sat waiting.

Celestine opened the door nearest them, peering inside for a moment before shrugging and saying; "It'll do." And pulling Harry in alongside her.

Harry whistled in appreciation.

The room was much the same as the one Harry shared with Ron. Larger than Harry's bedroom at Privet Drive by a significant margin, with faded and stained wallpaper that might've been a cream color once, accented with ancient looking dark wood trim. To one side was a vanity with three oval mirrors and an impressively massive wardrobe. On the opposite side was a writer's desk with a rather comfortable looking chair sat in front of it. The desk was sat directly between two doors that led to who knows where. In the middle of the far wall was a simply enormous four poster bed. The posters lay bare, but the sheets looked soft and inviting, and the pillows nearly cried out for Harry to lay his head down, just for a moment.

Curious, Harry moves to check the doors by the desk. One is a connection to another unused bedroom curiously enough, and the other leads to an ensuite bathroom. When he turns around, Celestine is sitting on the edge of the bed, her hooded robe thrown over the back of the desk chair, working at the straps and buckles holding her armor on. Already her pauldrons and gauntlets were laid out next to her.

"Bloody hell, but this room is a lot nicer than the one Ron and I share." Celestine just laughs melodically, and Harry can't help but smile back at her.

"Speaking of, I suppose I ought to be getting to … bed." He trailed off, brow furrowing as something occurred to him.

Celestine noticed. "What is it?" Her breastplate came loose, and she pulled it over her head. Underneath she wore a snug black tunic embroidered with the same pulsing patterns as her outer robe. Her armor was well fitted and hinted at the shape of the woman it protected, but that tunic practically spelled it out for him. Harry's mouth went dry, and he had to swallow several times before he could answer.

"I … after the way she reacted earlier, I don't trust Missus Weasley not to-" He blew out a frustrated breath. "Not to _try something_ , ya know?" Celestine grimaced as she bent over to remove her greaves.

"I'll admit, it wouldn't surprise me." Her greaves came off, and then she toed her boots off one after the other. "How well do you know her?" Harry blew out a breath.

"I'd like to think I knew her pretty well, but that was a bit of a shock if I'm honest." She shot him a sympathetic look as the armor around her legs fell away. The pants she wore clung to her like a second skin and Harry had a hard time not staring.

"I've known her since I was eleven, and she's always told me that I'm practically a member of the family as far as she's concerned, but. Well." He gave the wall a hard stare.

" _Practically_ a member of the family and _actual_ family are two very different things, aren't they?" If it wasn't, then she would've believed him when he declared Celestine a trusted friend. Harry thought he'd understood the wizarding world's attitude towards vampires before, but seeing it first hand was something else entirely. Harry had never seen Missus Weasley turn so much as a threatening word on anyone before. To see her switch so quickly from the warm and welcoming matron he held great affection for into a person ready to murder in cold blood chilled him to the bone.

"Unfortunately," she sighed in agreement. "Would you like me to keep watch over you while you sleep?" Harry shot her a confused look.

"What? No, it's _you_ I'm worried about, Celestine." He insisted. Her eyes widened for a moment before she softened.

"Alright, Harry. I can set some blood protections on the door. That should keep her, and anyone else for that matter, out."

"Thank you," Harry breathed, shoulders drooping with relief. "I dunno why I'm so worried. You said she could never hurt you and I believe you, but I guess it's just- well you'll be sleeping, yeah? Vulnerable in a house with someone that wants to hurt you." He shrugged. "Doesn't feel right, leaving you unprotected."

His eyes fell away from her face to bore holes in his ratty trainers. An instant later, soft fingers were tilting his head back up amid a buzz of magic. Silver eyes, full to the brim with compassion, met his from less than a foot away.

"I'm not unprotected, darling. I'll be alright."

"You promise?" He murmured. She nodded her head confidently. Well. Alright then. "Suppose I should be going to bed then." He said weakly. Her hand moved from his chin to cup his cheek, her thumb swiping at the corner of his mouth. Electric magic shot through him, rooting him to the spot.

"I suppose you should," she replied in barely more than a whisper. Harry gulped, wondering at his inability to move, but then she dropped her hand and moved back a step.

"Goodnight, Harry." She curtsied elegantly, which in her tunic and pants just looked silly, and Harry barked a laugh at the ridiculousness that is his life.

"G'night, Celestine." He turned, fully intending to go through the door, down the hall, into the room he shared with Ron, and fall into bed.

He stopped with his hand on the knob. Ron would probably be awake by now, and failing that Hermione certainly would be. They'd have questions, so many questions, and the thought of telling another person about his eventful night so soon made something like dread settle in his gut.

He just wanted to _sleep_. Not be subjected to the Hermione Inquisition. Because Hermione wouldn't be content with a simple retelling like Sirius was, oh no. She'd have questions, and follow up questions, and when he inevitably found himself unable to answer her every inquiry she'd drag him to the Black family library for research that could take _days_.

Merlin, he wouldn't trade Hermione for the world, and he'll gladly suffer her inquisition, but he's so bloody _tired_. He hasn't got anything left in the tank, physically, mentally, or emotionally.

And what if Celestine is right? What if Missus Weasley _does_ try something against him? He's sure she won't try to hurt him, not like she would Celestine anyway, but would it really be outside the realm of possibility for her to do something rash? Bring in other members of the Order, maybe even Dumbledore himself to interrogate him?

His hand shook on the knob, so Harry let it go.

"Celestine?" He turned, and she hummed from where she was getting the bed ready. "Can I-" He stopped, suddenly nervous. She turned to him with open curiosity and concern. No judgement, no impatience. Oh fuck it, go for it.

"Can I sleep here? I don't think I can handle my friends just yet, and I really don't want either of us to be alone right now." He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

Celestine beamed at him and threw the covers back. "Get comfortable, darling. I'll get the blood wards set up." Harry smiled gratefully and headed for the bed while she made for the door. Their knuckles brushed as they passed each other. He sat on the edge of the bed and shucked his trainers and socks, noting that his socks were more hole than sock at this point, but stopped as his hands went to his belt.

He doesn't have any sleeping clothes with him, and he sure as _hell_ isn't about to risk getting caught by anyone in the hallway. So, how much of his clothes is he gonna wear to bed tonight?

This morning? Shit, his whole sleep schedule is gonna be wrecked for days after this.

Celestine brought her index finger up to her lips and, without hesitation, bit down hard enough that blood immediately welled from her finger tip. Using her blood as ink, she took to inscribing something on the door to the room. It didn't look like any of the runic alphabets he'd seen Hermione studying before. In fact, it looked like Latin if he had his guess.

"I didn't know you could cast wards using Latin rather than one of the runic languages." It came out more as a question than anything else.

"It depends on how you're casting the ward," she answered without pausing her work. "The runic languages are simple in that they have the fewest characters, and therefore are easier to work with when warding the wizard's way. But, when working with blood wards? Using your native language is best." She splayed her hand out on the door, head bowed in concentration. The door flashed, and the words she had writ in blood raised off the surface to hover, amidst a vaguely glowing red mist, about half a foot in front of the door.

"One more door to go, and then we can get some rest." She sighed tiredly, moving to the connecting door by the desk and repeating the process.

"This won't take too much out of you, will it?" Harry asked, concerned by how suddenly tired she seemed. "Wait!" he interjected before she could answer, and she turned to him in surprise.

"Latin is your native language?" He asked, utterly dumbfounded. Celestine threw her head back and laughed, long and loud, bracing herself on the door with one hand to keep from falling over. Harry blushed, but after a moment he laughed too.

"Alright, yeah, not as big and important as I made it seem, but still! I didn't think there were any native latin speakers left in the world." He exclaimed, visibly excited. Latin is the language spells are written in, knowing the language that intimately must bring some sort of advantage in casting magic, right?

"Latin is the official language of the Undercity," Celestine finally said as her giggling came to an end. "And all other hidden cities like it. In Europe at least. Didn't you notice in the marketplace? Most everyone there was speaking it."

"No, I didn't notice." Harry noted disbelievingly. "How did I not notice that!?" Celestine shook her head fondly, then resumed warding the second door.

"Don't worry about me, Harry. The Praetoriae Sigillum doesn't require much blood to set up at all."

"Good." Harry declared, glad that she wasn't overly taxing herself for one good night's rest. They've got a few weeks left before he heads to Hogwarts, and he would feel just awful if she had to exhaust herself just to be safe in her own room every time she slept.

Wait. Shit. Hogwarts. How were they going to handle that? They can't exactly fulfill their oaths to each other totally separated for most of the year. He could try and convince the Headmaster to let her… what? Attend the school? Teach a class of her own? Shadow him without any sort of formal acknowledgement by the school itself? Shit, his head hurt thinking about it.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow they could talk about it. Maybe even get Sirius to help come up with ideas. It'll be easier after some rest anyway.

While he was lost in his thoughts, Celestine finished warding the second door, licking her finger once to heal it, and came to stand in front of him. She looked down at him with a curiously raised eyebrow.

"What?" He asked.

"You don't seriously intend me to believe that you normally sleep in your jeans, do you?"

"Er, well no, but-"

"But, I'm still wearing _my_ pants?" She purred, bending over at the waist to put them nearly nose to nose. "Does the imbalance make you hesitant, _meae deliciae_?" Her smile was nearly predatory, her fangs gleaming in the warm light of the sconces that lit the room.

"It's, it's not that." Harry stuttered out. She tilted her head curiously, inviting him to elaborate. "I guess I'm just being shy." He breathed out a short laugh. Celestine's predatory smile melted away, becoming something infinitely softer and more tender.

"Adhuc est iuvanale," she muttered to herself before straightening. Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Get comfortable, Harry. Whether that means your pants stay on or not is up to you, but either way I'm going to bed."

Before he knew what was happening, she was pulling her pants down in one smooth motion and stepping out of them. Her tunic fell far enough to preserve her modesty, but left almost the entirety of the impressive length of her smooth, pale legs bare to the world and any that would be brave enough to look upon them.

Harry looked, eyes wide in shock, then appreciation, then fear as he dragged his gaze back to her eyes. What he found wasn't what he expected. He thought she'd be incensed that he had the gall to look at her in anything less than outright decency, but what he found instead was a pleased smirk and a twinkle of challenge in her eyes.

And by Godric, if Harry didn't respond to that challenge then what right did he have calling himself a Gryffindor? He undid the knot in his belt - calling it a belt is generous; any real belt wouldn't be up to the job of making his cousins cast offs stay on. Instead, he used a length of thin rope, tied twice to make absolutely sure his pants didn't sag. Without the knot holding them up, all Harry had to do was stand up and shimmy a bit, and his pants were off, leaving him in his shirt and boxers.

Now, he hadn't exactly thought this action through. If he had he might have hesitated at least a little, but as it is he practically bounced up onto his feet in his eagerness to meet her challenge.

And nearly pressed the length of their bodies together all at once. She was standing _so close_ he could feel how warm she was. Her smirk, _Merlin help him._ Her smirk turned downright sultry, and Harry swallowed convulsively, but managed to send her his own cocky grin in return.

"You said to get comfortable, right?" He asked rhetorically, only waiting the barest second for her to nod her head before he whipped his shirt off in one smooth motion. Her eyes trailed down his torso, sticking firmly where he knew they would: on his chest. Harry fought viciously against every single doubt and self-recrimination that reared their ugly head, unable to comprehend where this stupendous wave of bravado was coming from.

He'd never taken his shirt off in front of others before. Even during the second task he'd had a shirt of some sort on. He always made a point to change in the privacy of the showers in the mornings and the locker rooms. No one, and he means _no one_ had ever seen him bare-chested before, and that was no accident.

She reached out, slowly, eyes seeking permission all the while, which he gave with a shaky nod, to trace the jagged, ugly scar that stretched from the lower right side of his ribs up to just above his left nipple. The scar was slightly raised, pink, and nearly as wide as his thumb. Her hand left pleasant tingles in its wake, her magic buzzing across him and sinking comfortably into his blood. The first sensation he'd felt in that scar since the day he got it.

"How?" She asked breathlessly, eyes switching from examining his scar to his eyes and back as if she couldn't decide what to do with herself.

"I-" He doesn't want to tell her. He desperately doesn't want to _tell_ her, but he wants her to _know_. Maybe that's why he could be brave enough to whip his shirt off and show her his shame. She's understood him in ways no one else has before, maybe, just maybe, she'll understand this part of him too.

"Don't tell anyone, even if they ask. This stays between us."

"Of course, Harry. I won't tell a soul." He catches her hand in both of his, rubbing circles over it with his thumbs while he gathers his thoughts.

"I told you that my relatives aren't the nicest people, yeah?" He started, and the way her expression fell told him she'd already put two and two together to make four. It really isn't that hard to figure out, he thinks. How no one else even _suspected_ is beyond him.

"I live with my Aunt and Uncle and their son, Dudley." He said tonelessly, letting the words come without letting himself feel them. "They never wanted me. Told me as much every chance they got. One day, I messed something up, can't rightly remember what, but Uncle was more furious with me than normal that day. I think, looking back, that he must've been drunk. He grabbed one of his golf clubs, and-"

Harry's eyes clamp shut, trying and failing to block out the memory of that day. How his Uncle turned to him with apoplectic pucey rage. How he took up a nine iron and told him to 'Stand there and take it like a man.' How Harry couldn't couldn't couldn't _not_ defend himself, so he tried to block the hits with his arms. How that just made Uncle even _angrier_ , so he tied his arms behind him with his belt, and hit him _so hard,_ over and over again, until-

"The club broke, and the jagged end tore me pretty good that first time." It wasn't a clean cut. The broken club dragged and tore and ripped it's way across his chest, and he knows he must have cried out, but he can't remember if he begged his Uncle to stop or if he just _cried_.

"The _first time?_ " Her voice is utterly _horrified_ , and Harry squeezes his eyes tighter, refusing to see whatever expression goes with it on her beautiful face. It'd break him, he's sure of it.

"My- my back," he chokes out. "He turned me over-" so he wouldn't have to see his 'pathetic, freakish face.' "-and, and-"

"Harry," her free hand is lifting his chin again, the pleasant tingle of her touch a distant thing as his memories threaten to overwhelm him. He doesn't mean to, he doesn't want to see how little she must think of him now painted across her celestial eyes. He doesn't want to look at her and see the _regret_ she must feel now for ever binding them together as they did.

Because his Uncle is right. He's weak and freakish and _no one loves him_ -

But- but Sirius does. He said so, and he would _never_ lie to him about something like that.

But, Celestine has only _just_ met him! She can't possibly- he shouldn't have- he doesn't want to _see-_

But he does. He opens his eyes and sees tears trailing down her regal cheekbones, and something almost like _pride_ curling her lips.

"You are so much stronger than I thought." _What?_ "A warrior and a survivor. To have gone through so much suffering, and come out the other side as the kind of man you are?" She shook her head, then leaned down to whisper in his ear.

" _Harry, you amaze me."_ Then she folded him up in her arms, one hand going to the nape of his neck to play with the short hairs there, the other splaying out against his lower back and pulling him closer until they were flush against one another. Everywhere their skin touched, and there was a _lot_ of it showing, he felt that soothing tingle as her magic seemed to almost reach out to him now, trying to wrap him up protectively.

Her hand was touching the ends of a few of the scars that ran down his back, he could feel it, but she didn't flinch away, or hesitate. Her hand didn't so much as stutter as her fingers pressed into the very real, very physical proof that Harry was different. Was other. Was _unwanted_ by his own family.

She didn't care. Well, no, that isn't right, she definitely cares about him, but she _doesn't care about his childhood_. She doesn't think less of him.

Somehow, she thinks more of him for it.

Harry doesn't understand it, not really, but he doesn't need to understand it to accept it. So he presses his face into her collarbone and lets his arms wrap around her as snugly as they can. He breathes deep, noticing for the first time that Celestine smells like iron and cotton and something floral that he can't place.

She accepted the worst part of him. _She accepted it_. For the first time in his life since that horrible day, Harry fully relaxes into another's touch. Nothing held back, nothing to hide, no shame, no fear. Comfortable in his own skin once more, even if only for a moment.

He feels her make a short gesture with her hand, and the lights go out. Before he can voice his confusion, her arms are tightening around him, and then they're tumbling down into the bed together. They roll a bit, and Harry ends up half on top of Celestine. He props himself up to try and look at her, but his eyes haven't adjusted yet and he can hardly even see her outline.

Except for her eyes, which shine faintly, like stars in the darkness of the room.

"We should get some rest." She answers his unasked question. Harry knows she's right. Now that he's off his feet, his eyelids feel like they have ten ton weights attached to them. Keeping them open is a struggle, so he lets them fall shut. He tries to move, to roll off of Celestine and give her some space, the bed really is titanic, but her arms tighten around him and pull him down until his head is resting on her chest, right above her heart.

"Stay, _meae deliciae_." She murmurs into his hair, and Harry finds that he really doesn't want to move from where he is anyway. He's so tired and so _comfortable,_ that before he knows it he's drifting off, a contented smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I adore Celestine, and I hope you do as well!


	3. Good Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry wakes up, and gets to work. First step? Introductions.

Harry awoke the way he always did: suddenly and completely. He didn't move, not yet. Because the first thing he realized upon waking was that he was more comfortable than he could ever recall being in his life. The bed was warm, and soft, and almost impractically large, but Celestine was warmer, and softer, and had one arm draped over his back as she slept. Her magic buzzed around him in a pleasant haze, electrifying and yet soothing. More comforting than the actual comforter that they never bothered to get under when they fell into bed together.

He'd take Celestine over the bed, any day.

His face is still pressed into her collar bone, one hand resting on the swell of her hips while the other is trapped under the pillow her head is resting on. Their legs are tangled together, and Harry is sure that if he had woken up like this with literally anyone else, except _maybe_ Hermione, he'd be flying into a panic.

He's not entirely sure why he isn't, truth be told, but he's glad. Sharing comfort like this with another person is foreign to him, but it feels _good_ in a way that he can hardly describe. Like a puzzle piece got slotted into his life that he didn't know he was missing.

He took a deep breath, awash in Celestine's uniquely metallic, floral scent, and let it out in a pleased hum. He could try and go back to sleep, but he knows better than to try. Once he's awake there's no going back, no matter how much he wants to.

That's not to say he can't stay right where he is until Celestine wakes up. Not at all.

He's got to talk to his friends when he gets up. Surely they know _something_ happened. Sirius, well he never promised not to tell anyone else anything, did he?

Nor did Missus Weasley, for that matter, and if _she's_ the one telling people anything then… Shite. Harry's going to have his work cut out for him. But, _surely_ Sirius wouldn't let her have free reign to cause those kinds of issues.

No, Harry's confident that his Godfather has had his back while he slept. Hell, he might've never even given Missus Weasley her wand back. She might've spent the entire morning totally silenced and fuming; ardently cleaning whatever she could get her hands on to stave off her frustration.

It's an amusing image, and Harry smothers his smile in Celestine's collar. Missus Weasley will either be a downright demon once she gets her wand back, or she'll have cooled off enough to see reason. Either way? He's got Sirius and Celestine to back him up, and he's not going to let himself freeze like he did in the kitchen again. He's got to put his foot down with Missus Weasley, let her know that as much as he appreciates all that she's done for him; he isn't one of her kids.

He's Sirius' kid.

Sirius _loves him_. The thought fills him with such warmth, and affection, and a glowing happiness that he has to tamp down on the urge to squirm - he doesn't want to wake Celestine up just yet. _Sirius_ loves _him_! There'd always been this hope, this desperate desire in his heart, for as long as Harry could remember, for a long lost family member to come and take him away. To bring him somewhere he belongs, to be with people like him.

He'd thought Hagrid was as close as he was going to get.

But, then last night - this morning? - happened, and now Harry _knows._ He knows what he's hoped for since the moment they met is _real._

Harry has a _family_. He _belongs_. He is _wanted_.

He never thought he'd have any of those things in his life.

He doesn't realize he's crying until the hand on his lower back starts tracing patterns across his skin.

"How long have you been up, _mella_?" Her voice is husky with sleep, and when he looks her eyes are still shut, but she's smiling a small, contented smile.

"Not long," his voice is warbly with emotion, and he sniffs wetly immediately after. No way he's hiding the fact he's been crying now, is there? Sure enough, her eyes fly open, wide and concerned.

"What's the matter, Harry?" Her hand splays out against the small of his back, subtly pulling him closer, and Harry beamed at her.

"Nothing's wrong, Celestine. Nothing at all." He whispered excitedly. "I've just realized, is all, is that I've got a _family_ now! A real one, not just relatives that I live with, but a _real family_ that loves me!"

Her concern vanishes, replaced with earnest happiness. She traces a path up his back with her finger, right along his spine, sending tingles across his body.

"I'm glad, _meie deliciae_. Sirius is a good man. He will make for a good family."

"You and Sirius -" he was about to say 'will both make a good family,' but the thought is so surprising that he stumbles over his words, and instead he says: "Do you, uh, think you'll get along well then?"

She chuckled under her breath, her finger tracing random patterns on his back. "I think so. He cares for you a great deal, _and_ he didn't attack me on sight, so I have a good feeling about him." She said cheekily.

"If it's so easy to impress you, then it's no wonder you liked me so much when we met." Harry shot back.

"If you're trying to insult my taste in men, you'll have to do better than that. Because I've tasted you, and you are _delicious_." She intimated in a low murmur with hooded eyes. Harry blushed, but still managed to scoff playfully.

"What does the flavor of a man's blood have to do with their quality?"

" _Everything_ ," she breathed fervently. "Your blood carries your magic, your life force itself, and even imprints of your skills and memories." Harry listened with steadily widening eyes. "The blood doesn't determine your quality, _you_ determine the quality of your blood, and _your_ blood, _meae lepores_?" She leaned down to whisper in his ear, her lips brushing against him as she finished.

"You're blood is the sweetest I have _ever_ had." Harry shivered, his hand on her hip reflexively clenching and pulling her closer.

"Ya know," he started, surprised at how breathless he was. "I don't think I've ever been paid a higher compliment in my life." Fuck, that might be the greatest compliment anyone anywhere could _ever_ receive! A vampire more than two millennia old tells you, essentially, that you are quite literally the best person they have ever met. What could possibly top that?

Celestine giggled, then drew back, settling back down on the pillow with a rather pleased expression.

"Proud of yourself, are you?" Harry teased.

"Incredibly," she chirped. Harry snorted and buried his face in her neck. For a time they lay there, still completely entangled, Celestine's hand roaming his back. Harry let his thoughts go and just enjoyed the peacefulness of the moment.

Then her hand started tracing over the scars on his back, one after the other, cataloguing them one by one. He stiffened slightly without meaning to, and her hand stopped.

"I'm going to kill them." She said it like a solemn vow; a dark promise. Harry knew who she meant without having to ask.

"Killing them won't fix anything." He muttered despondently. He'd spent a long time thinking about it over the years, and that was one thing that he kept coming back to: killing his relatives wouldn't fix him. It'd just make him a murderer.

"No, but you don't need fixing, do you Harry?" He propped himself up to look at her properly.

"Then why bother?" He asked, genuinely confused.

"They deserve to die for what they did to you." She said simply, eyes hard.

"You're talking about revenge."

"Vengeance and Justice are too often one and the same."

"But are you sure this is one of those times?"

"I am," she insisted. "Tell me Harry, would you mourn them? If they died today, in some accident or another, would you?" Harry thought about it, _really_ thought about it. His relatives had never been anything but cruel to him. Not once in his life had they ever done anything _for him_. They only fed him the little they did so they didn't get arrested for killing him.

If they thought they could've gotten away with letting him rot in the cupboard under the stairs, there's no doubt in his mind that they would have.

And yet, Harry had risked everything to save Dudley's immortal soul earlier that summer. But, to be fair, having your soul _eaten_ is a fate worse than death that Harry wouldn't even wish on Lord fucking Voldemort.

So why does the thought of them dying not bother him in the slightest? Why does it almost fill him with _relief?_

"Would it make me a bad person to say no?" He responded quietly, unsure of himself. Her hand wormed its way up between them to cup his cheek.

"No, _mella_ , not at all." She promised softly, and Harry believed her. He took a deep breath, letting his eyes slide shut as he pressed his face into her palm.

"Okay." He conceded.

"Okay?" She repeated.

"I won't mourn them." He confessed. "But I have one condition."

"Name it." She breathed.

"Don't hurt my cousin, Dudley."

"As you wish." She acquiesced easily, and Harry let out a relieved breath. "Might I ask why?"

Harry blew out a breath and opened his eyes. She was watching him with curiosity and compassion, with not an ounce of judgement to be found. Merlin, if he didn't know she was a vampire he might think she was his own personal avenging angel.

"I could say that Dudley is just a kid, and that he never did anything to me that would warrant death." He chewed on his lip, hesitating before barreling on. "But then I'd be lying. No, it's more so that I risked _everything_ to save his life at the beginning of the summer, and I don't want that to go to waste. I don't want what I suffered through to save him to mean _nothing_ , ya know?"

"I understand, Harry, and I promise not to kill him if it can be helped." Her thumb was tracing soothing circles across his cheek, and Harry wondered if this situation, and how plainly unbothered by it all he was, doesn't speak to the overall ludicrousness of his life.

"Thank you," he whispered. She hummed and leaned forward to press her lips to his forehead in a lingering kiss. Harry's heart tripped over itself in its efforts to go from standing still to sprinting in an instant.

"Do you want to be there? It could be good for you, to see with your own eyes that they'll never be able to hurt you again." She mused. Again, Harry really gave the question some thought. He's watched people die - _kill the spare_ \- and even killed one himself - _face burning, twisting in agony as he screams and crumbles to dust beneath his fingertips_ \- but can he watch his own relatives be essentially executed on his behalf?

Can he live with himself knowing he could have and didn't? Some dark and terrible part of him says ' _no.'_

"I think I would, yeah." He admits. She nods her head solemnly. "But can we not do that today? Or even this week? Getting everyone on board with, well with _us,_ is going to be hard enough without us risking getting caught sneaking out to kill my relatives."

"Of course, darling. My bloodlust can wait as long as you want it to." She smiles teasingly, and Harry rolls his eyes but can't help being amused despite the seriousness of her statement.

Sometime later, after they'd reluctantly extricated themselves from each other and the gravity well that is their bed - woah wait why is Harry thinking of it as _their_ bed - and taken turns showering in the private loo, they stand before the door to the hall. The ward Celestine wove the previous night casts them both in a faintly eerie crimson glow.

"I'm gonna try and corner Ron and Hermione first," Harry decided. "I think you'll like Hermione, after she gets done interrogating you." He laughed, but Celestine just cocked her head.

"And Ron?" She inquired.

"Eh, Ron is a good bloke in his heart, and a good friend _most_ of the time, but," he sighed and shook his head. "He's let me down a lot recently. I just _can't_ count on him the way I used to. But, he'll cause problems if I leave him out, so-" Harry shrugged, as if to say 'what can you do?'

"Hmm, probably not going to like that one, then." She admitted coyly.

"No skin off my nose," Harry added carelessly. "Don't be afraid to be stern with him if he puts his foot in his mouth. He has a habit, ya see."

"Lovely," Celestine snorted as she deactivated her ward with a wave of her hand. The words sank back into the wood, but didn't disappear. Sleeping, but not dead.

"You go ahead, I'll follow."

"Whaddya mean?" Harry questioned, but she just winked at him before bursting into a cloud of thick mist, vaguely the same shape and size as a person. The cloud of mist flew up to the ceiling and promptly spread out so thin he could hardly tell it was there if he wasn't looking specifically for her.

"That's so _fucking cool._ " Harry breathed, and Celestine's melodic laugh echoed in his mind.

Harry found Ron and Hermione in a derelict sitting room on the third floor. The room was absolutely _caked_ in dust and cobwebs, and a liquor cabinet in the far corner had the tell-tale shakes of a doxie infestation. They'd need Sirius' help with that. The room had two rather large windows on the far wall, but the thick and dusty curtains were drawn tight, not letting an ounce of sunlight into the room. Harry took special note of that, and made a mental note to make sure they _stayed_ that way.

Ron was half heartedly wiping down an ancient looking leather loveseat using an old rag and a bucket of yellowish cleaner. Harry _really_ thought he ought to be using gloves. That cleaner cannot be good for his skin, and chemical burns are no joke.

Hermione, meanwhile, was on her hands and knees, scrubbing at a rather large, dark brown stain on the dusty, but otherwise spot free, wood floor with a horse hair brush. Unlike Ron, Hermione had the good sense to wear gloves. Her wild mane was pulled back into a ponytail to keep it out of her face while she cleaned, and Harry noted that she was glaring at the stain as if it had personally offended her.

He'd bet galleons to knuts that she'd been trying to clean that spot for at least an hour without success.

Harry leaned up against the door jam, arms crossed. Above him, a thin but barely visible mist slipped into the room and pooled along the ceiling.

"Missus Weasley got you cleaning again?" He was aiming for joking commiseration, but it came out far too harshly to be taken as a joke. Still, he tried to smile and act like nothing big was happening.

"Harry!" Hermione whipped around to give him a bright smile. "Where have you been this morning?"

"Yeah, mate," Ron added. "You've been missing out on all these _wonderful_ chores!" He finished with a snort and a roll of the eyes.

He shrugged in response. "I was sleeping. Had a _really_ long night. Have either of you seen Sirius today?"

"Oh, he and mum got into a huge row this morning." Harry turned a sharp gaze Ron's way at that. "She set us to cleaning to get us out of their hair, I think." Ron lamented.

"Any idea what they were arguing about?" He asked as casually as he could, but he could feel his shoulders tightening in worry already. Ron just shrugged carelessly, the thought of those two fighting seemingly not bothering him in the slightest. And why should it? Harry thought to himself. After all, they hadn't seen eye to eye about a lot of things before last night. They have no reason to think this time was any different.

But, Hermione was looking at him shrewdly. Knowingly.

"Why do I get the feeling that _you_ know what they were fighting about?" She accused him lightheartedly.

"Well," Harry started. "That might be because I probably do." They both turned curious looks his way, and he pushed off the door jam to hold his hands out in the universal symbol for 'wait.'

"Now, it's a bit of a story. I've gotta lay some foundation before we get to that, and I was wanting to tell you both about my night anyway." He blew out a breath, looking heavenward as if seeking guidance. "Where to start?"

"The beginning is usually a good idea." Hermione replied, far too innocently to be anything other than pure sass. Celestine's chuckle rolled through his mind, and he smiled, shaking his head.

"Well then, let me start by saying that I know what I did was astonishingly dumb, but it worked out in the end, so restrain yourself from yelling or slapping me until I'm done, yeah?" He looked at them both as he said it, but he finished by giving Hermione a pleading look. She huffed, crossing her arms, but nodded her agreement.

"Fine then, let's hear it."

"Yeah, mate," Ron added, more excited and joking than Hermione's serious air. "What'd you do? Sneak out for a midnight ride on Buckbeak?"

"Er, well, no." Harry stuttered. "I did sneak out though." Ron looked impressed, and Hermione raised a disapproving brow in his direction.

"I had another vision. Last night." He muttered, only just loud enough for them to hear. Ron's amusement drained away, finally realizing this was serious, and Hermione only narrowed her eyes. He could see the gears turning in that brilliant mind of hers.

"Voldemort was going to a cemetery near here. I recognized it, and what he was up to just… _felt_ important." He took a deep, fortifying breath; preparing for their inevitable reactions. "So I grabbed my cloak and followed him."

" _What!?_ " His friends shouted in unison. Hermione was on her feet in an instant and rushing over to him. He braced himself, ready for a smack or stern talking to, but she threw her arms around him in a bone crushing hug instead. He blinked several times as his mind tried to catch up. He looked at Ron, and Ron was staring at him with his jaw on the floor.

"I'm so glad you're alright!" Hermione cried into his shoulder. Harry awkwardly wrapped one arm around her to pat her comfortingly on the back.

"So, you're not mad at me?" He asked hopefully. She snorted and let him go, stepping away to level her patented 'Hermione is Disappointed in You' glare on him.

"Of course I am! That was rash and far too dangerous!"

"Yeah mate," Ron agreed.

"You should have woken us up! Going alone was beyond stupid, Harry!"

"Yeah - wait, what?" Ron looked at her like she'd just grown a second head.

"Time was of the essence, Hermione. I had to sprint most of the way there! I only barely caught sight of him before he opened some secret entrance into the catacombs and vanished. If I'd have taken the time to wake you guys up and convince you to come with me I would've missed my chance." Harry insisted, nearly desperate for her to understand.

She huffed. "We'll discuss your willingness to throw yourself into dangerous situations _alone_ and _defenseless_ later. So, you followed Voldemort into the catacombs, I presume?"

"Yeah," Harry explained. "I had to reopen the door myself, but I followed him in -"

"How did you open the door without your wand?" Hermione cut in. "I assume it was magical in some way." From anyone else it would have sounded like a question, but Hermione was so confident in her supposition that it just came out as a statement.

Harry sighed, exasperated already, and yet there was a thread of fondness for his strong headed, confident, scarily brilliant bookworm of a best friend that made him smile.

"The door just needed a blood sacrifice, and I had my penknife with me." Hermione nodded, accepting that answer. "It was ages of empty catacombs before we got to this great big chamber that turned out to be a magical elevator -"

"Like the one at the Ministry's guest entrance?" Ron questioned, clearly absorbed.

"Yeah, but _so_ much bigger and it went _way_ further down. Was powered by blood too. Ol' Tommy Boy had to put some of his blood into a goblet to get it moving."

"That's twice now you've mentioned magic powered by blood sacrifice." Hermione pointed out thoughtfully. "Blood magic is rare and powerful. I wonder -"

"Well you'll stop wondering if you would stop interrupting and let me tell the story." Harry interrupted teasingly. Hermione rolled her eyes but he could see mirth in her eyes.

"Well get on with it then!" Ron shouted. "I wanna know what Harry's been up to as much as you do, ya know." He said to Hermione.

"Right!" Harry said loudly to cut off whatever Hermione was about to say in response. "The elevator finally stopped, and it let us out into what was probably the most beautiful and magical place I've ever seen." He breathed reverently, remembering his brief time in the Undercity the previous night.

"It was a grand marketplace. Hundreds, maybe _thousands_ of stalls lined the streets; everything from food stalls to an honest to Merlin blacksmith! And the streets were absolutely _packed_ with people going about their lives. Just, shopping, and eating, and laughing. It was hectic, bustling, _alive_ in a way that no other magical settlement I've been to has been. Hermione, if you could've seen it you would've _freaked!_ The ceiling was enchanted just like the Great Hall, but on such a grand scale that it was just astounding."

"It sounds lovely, Harry, but what was Voldemort _doing_ there?" Hermione cut in again. Harry shook himself, realizing he'd gotten a bit distracted.

"So, the guards, did I mention that Voldemort was met immediately by an escort?" At their blank looks he realized he hadn't. "Right, so as soon as he arrived two guards materialized out of the shadows, and I realized pretty quick that they were vampires."

Ron's eyes nearly bugged out of his head and his face lost much of its color. Hermione, on the other hand, merely tilted her head thoughtfully. Harry continued before either of them could interrupt again.

"I stuck myself to Voldie's back as best I could, trying not to be found out, and as I looked around I realized something." He paused dramatically, knowing that Celestine would appreciate it. "Most of the vendors and the people in the crowd were vampires and other ' _dark creatures_ ' too." He said 'dark creatures' like it was a horrible slur that tasted awful in his mouth.

" _Merlin_ Harry, what kind of place did you stumble into!?" Ron nearly shouted.

"At the time, I didn't really know," Harry neatly sidestepped Ron's question. "Anyway, Voldie was led by his escort to this - I have no other way to describe it - palatial Roman castle, manned to the gills with more vampiric guardsmen. Two of which broke off to box Voldemort in, and lemme tell you, he _did not_ like that. Not one bit."

Ron was starting to look a bit green, but Hermione took the bait.

"Not like it, how?"

"He was afraid," Harry intoned seriously. "Or at least very nervous. That was when I realized that he was there to negotiate with someone. He was led through the palace and into a throne room eventually, and there was the Lord of the Undercity: Lord Erasmus Livius."

"It was made _abundantly_ clear that Tommie Boy was an unwanted guest bordering on an unwelcome intruder, so they got right to the point. Voldemort asked Lord Livius to help him overthrow the Ministry, and in return he would give vampires the rights and protections that they deserve." Ron snorted, muttering something under his breath that Harry didn't quite catch.

"Did this Lord Livius accept the offer?" Hermione whispered, clearly concerned. Voldemort gaining more followers, especially powerful ones, would be bad news in the extreme.

"He considered it. And I tell you that was one of the single most terrifying moments of my life. I'd never seen Voldemort act the way he did down there. Respectful, almost deferential. I knew that Lord Livius was someone to be feared and respected, and the thought of what they could do together?" Harry shook his head, eyes wide at the thought.

"It chilled me to the bone. But then, his daughter stepped out from the shadows behind his throne, and he asked her _her_ opinion. I was standing at the foot of the dais, watching her consider Voldemort's offer, and I just started _screaming_ in my head not to trust him." Harry laughed, amazed still by what happened in the next moment. His friends both sent him concerned looks, but he just looked at them with wide, astounded eyes.

"She looked _right at me_." Ron's face drained of all color, and Hermione's jaw dropped.

"I thought you had the cloak?" Hermione asked.

"I did," Harry confirmed. "She heard my thoughts, Hermione, and for an instant I thought I was about to die, but then she did what no one but the two of you and Sirius had ever done before. She actually _listened to me_."

"What?" Ron asked, totally dumbfounded.

"I know!" Harry agreed excitedly. "Totally blew me away. So, Moldyshorts gets sent away with a stern reminder not to come back unless summoned," the thought still makes Harry chuckle. "And I get told, rather firmly, to stay behind and chat."

"What'd you do?" Ron asked breathlessly. "How did you escape?"

Harry didn't like that assumption, but he let it slide this time. "I didn't." He shrugged. "I convinced them not to side with Voldemort, and even gave them my own counteroffer." He added proudly.

"You made a deal with a _vampire_!?" Ron nearly shrieked, sounding very much like his mother. Harry rocked back on his heels, surprised.

"Well, yeah."

" _Why?_ " Ron demanded. Hermione watched on, clearly lost in thought but still listening.

"Why not?" Harry shrugged. "Honestly I'd be more nervous making a deal with the Gringotts goblins. Lord Livius and Celestine are good people."

" _Good people_ , he says!" He threw his hands in the air. "Harry, mate, they're _vampires!_ "

Harry narrowed his eyes and stepped closer to his _Best Mate_. "You want to explain why that's a bad thing?" He bit out.

"I'm sure what Ron meant was -" Harry held up a hand without looking at her, effectively cutting her off.

"No, Hermione. Don't help him here. I want to hear him explain himself." Ron looked between the two of them, clearly feeling penned in and not liking it.

"Blimey, Harry, do you really not know?"

"Know what, Ron?" He stepped closer, refusing to break eye contact with the taller boy.

"Vampires, _vampires,_ mate, are Dark Creatures." Harry raised an eyebrow in Ron's direction.

"So? What's your point?"

"Bloody hell _they're evil is what's my point!_ " Harry immediately took a step back, disappointed and beyond incensed. If he got any closer he'd be liable to hit his friend, and that wouldn't solve anything.

Ron wasn't finished, however.

"They're inhuman _monsters_ that steal into people's homes at night to drain them dry! They're killers, they're dangerous, and they're _not to be trusted!_ " Ron blustered out, breathing heavy, face gone red with frustration.

Harry crossed his arms and just looked at his friend for a very long, very tense moment.

"Then you'll be rather upset with me, because I swore a blood oath with one last night." Harry said, perfectly calmly, even as his heart beat heavy in his chest. He was starting to think that this conversation would cause even more irreparable damage to his and Ron's friendship. He doesn't want that. He doesn't want to lose Ron.

"What!? Harry you blighted idiot, what were you thinking?"

But he did swear an oath, and he has every intention of honoring it.

"Maybe I was thinking that it felt right, Ron!" Harry roared, out of patience. "Maybe I realized, in the short time I spent with them in their city, that _they were people too_. Maybe I realized that they were cast out, hated, hunted, and _worse_ by the society that was supposed to protect and care for them. Maybe I realized that _they_ were just like _me!_ "

Ron shook his head, clearly not listening, and opened his mouth to say something that Harry knew would drive him to violence, so Harry talked right over him.

"Think about it Ron, _really think about what you've been saying._ Have you got all your arguments in your head? Good, now replace the word 'vampire' with 'mudblood,' because you sound just like Malfoy right now." Ron's hands clenched into fists and he stepped right into Harry's personal space.

"You take that back!" He shouted, not even an inch from Harry's face, but he didn't so much as flinch.

"You wouldn't be so insulted if you didn't know I was right." He snarled back. Their eyes locked, sky-blue on killing curse green, separated only by Harry's glasses and a few inches of space buzzing with potential violence. For several breaths, neither of them moved, and then, to Harry's complete and utter shock, Ron backed down. His eyes skittered away, and then _he_ stepped away, letting out a harsh, blustering breath.

"Alright, look, mate." Ron started, clearly maintaining his calm by a thread. "I ain't saying you're right, but you're my friend, so either way I've got your back, yeah? Even if you are making crazy deals with the devil in the middle of the night."

Ron's gaze stayed glued to his shoes, unwilling to meet Harry's as he regarded his friend critically. This is it, he realized. This is the moment that Ron goes from Best Mate to just another friend.

He's let him down for the last time.

He's just not _listening!_ He's not challenging himself, or his preconceived notions. He's not even _pretending to_.

Harry is _sick_ of this. What happened to the boy that was willing to brave every danger and even sacrifice himself for his friends? What happened to the arachnophobe that walked into the largest acromantula nest in the country in search of information that could keep an innocent man out of Azkaban? Why has Hermione stayed true, and grown even greater than she was, while Ron has fallen so far away from the good person he was?

Or, at least that Harry _thought_ he was.

It was Ron's fault that Hermione was in danger first year to begin with. He was unnecessarily cruel, and it sent a good person into a spiral that would've gotten her killed if Harry hadn't _made_ him go looking for her.

That's just it, isn't it? Harry had to _drag_ Ron along behind him into all of their adventures, with the only exception being the Chamber. It figures that Ron would only _choose_ the right path, no matter how hard it was, for the sake of his own family. And Harry? Harry is only _almost_ family. If Harry wants Ron's support, he has to drag him along behind him.

And Harry is tired of carrying dead weight.

So, Harry takes a deep breath, trying desperately to fortify himself in the face of the deterioration of the first friendship he ever had, and lets it out in a massive sigh.

"Alright, Ron. Fine. But, think about what I said, yeah?" He tries one last time, one last olive branch -

"Yeah, sure." Ron agrees too quickly. Dismissively. Eager to ignore his own shortcomings and just keep coasting along as if nothing is wrong.

Hermione edges into Harry's vision, perching herself on the arm of the loveseat. She's looking between the two of them with something like heartbreak in her eyes. She knows that something has just been broken. Something that isn't likely to be fixed anytime soon.

Hermione doesn't comment on the argument, and Harry is grateful for that. The two of them can talk about it later.

"So, what was this oath you swore?" She asked instead. Ron looked up, and Harry stepped back a bit, shoving his hands in his overly-large jean pockets.

"We, Hermione," Harry corrected. "Celestine and I swore oaths to each other." Hermione waved her hand as if to say 'yes, yes, but that doesn't answer my question.' Harry closed his eyes as he remembered: Celestine and himself stood across from each other around a flaming chalice. They held their hands out, cut their palms, and let their blood drip into the flame as they incanted the words they had decided upon.

"Iuro per sanguinem et honorem perdat Voldemort, Sublondinium praesidio tueri se adversus Maledictus Creaturae et auferam iniquitatem omnino necessarium." He recited, the words having burned themselves into his memory. Blood oaths have power, nothing on the level of an unbreakable vow, but Harry knows he will never forget what he is sworn to do. Not now, and not until the day of his death. Perhaps not even then.

His friends both looked at him blankly for a moment before Ron said: "Mate, we don't speak latin. English, yeah?"

Harry chuckled shortly. "Right. Basically: we vowed to destroy Voldemort, protect each other, and to undo the Maledictus Creaturae by any means necessary."

"Yer still speaking latin there, Harry." Ron laughed.

"Yes, what is the 'Maledictus Creaturae?'" Hermione added.

"Celestine would be better at explaining that one," Harry admitted. "And I haven't even gotten to why Sirius and Missus Weasley were arguing yet, so can we shelve that for now?" Hermione was hesitant, but nodded anyway, and Ron just shrugged, so it was agreed to shelve that topic for now.

"Right, so basically -" Harry had no idea how to say it, so he said 'fuck it' and just threw it out there. "I brought Celestine here last night, and Missus Weasley was _not_ happy to find a vampire sitting in the kitchen with me." He finished bitterly, still upset that she didn't just _trust_ him; that she insisted on believing the worst about someone she just met because of _what_ they are rather than _who_ they are.

He really shouldn't be surprised by Ron's attitude, he realizes. She did raise him, after all.

"Your mum attacked her," he spat, unable to hide how upset he still was about that. "And I had to get in between them to keep anyone from getting hurt. Sirius was _not_ happy with Missus Weasley because of that, far as I could tell." He finished with a shrug. "So, yeah. That's why they were arguing I reckon."

"Wait, back up a second there Harry." Ron held his hands out in front of him while Hermione nodded her head furiously next to him. Her eyes were round as saucers.

"Why'd you bring a vamp- er, _her_ back _here_?" Ron finished.

"Oh really Ronald," Hermione cut in. "That's obvious. They swore to _protect each other_ , and you can't very well protect someone if you aren't near them." She rolled her eyes, and Ron grumbled something nasty that Harry willfully ignored.

"What I want to know," 'Mione turned to him, that spark of curiosity that she always got when unraveling a mystery in her eye. "Is how she got passed the Fidelius."

"Bloody hell, I forgot about that! Yeah, how did she do that?" Ron demanded, a notable hint of real fear creeping into his voice.

Harry opened his mouth to explain, but then he got a devilish idea. A glance at the ceiling showed a vaguely human shaped cloud of mist clinging there directly above him. He turned a smile that was all teeth on that cloud of mist.

"I think _she_ can answer that question." He said without looking away from her. He heard a feminine gasp and a hastily indrawn breath and knew that his friends had noticed her too. The mist condensed, pressing inwards until, in an instant, the mist was gone; replaced with the maniacally grinning Celestine, fangs on full display, staring down at them from where she stood, irrespective of gravity, on the ceiling.

For a moment, she just looked at them, her luminescent eyes switching between them predatorially. She looked, with her head tilted back as far as she could to stare straight down at them, with her robes defying gravity to fall straight up, like a cheshire cat that just caught sight of three hapless mice.

Naturally, her eyes stuck to his the moment they made contact, and Harry felt oddly gratified by that fact. He took a step back just as she detached from the ceiling, falling in a graceful flip to land on her feet, knees bending to absorb the impact, right next to him. Her armor made surprisingly little noise, and Harry wondered if it was enchanted or if it was just a vampire thing. She straightened to her full height, looked between Ron and Hermione's shocked expressions, took in and appreciated the lengthy silence between them, and laughed lowly.

Ron made a rather pathetic 'meep' sound as all the blood in his face drained away yet again. Hermione just stared, slack jawed, at Celestine.

"I think we broke them, darling." She turned to him, mirth shining in her celestial eyes.

He laughed, caught in her gaze and unable to look away.

"Give her a moment and Hermione will be throwing questions at you at lightning speed. Ron might need more than a moment, though." He sassed.

"Hey!" Ron spluttered, a blush fighting against his face's attempt to drain of all color.

"Hmm, seems you had it backwards, _mella_." Celestine mused.

"It's not often that I've seen Hermione speechless before." Harry admitted, some concern for his friend leaking into his voice now. "'Mione? You good?"

That seemed to break her out of her stupor. She blinked rapidly, shook her head, and said: "Yeah, Harry, I'm fine. I just have _so many questions!_ I don't even know where to start!" Harry shot Celestine a look that screamed 'Told you so' and she slapped his arm playfully in response.

"You're really a vampire? What's it like? How much blood do you need to drink to survive? Do vampires have to kill when they feed? Are you burned by the sun? Can vampires do any sort of magic that wizards can't? Oh oh oh!" She bounced in her seat excitedly, a massive smile showing off her perfectly white teeth.

"You just _have_ to explain how you subverted the fidelius!" Hermione's excitement was contagious, and Harry couldn't contain his smile. Celestine herself gave the girl an amused grin.

Ron, however, groaned loudly and rolled his eyes as if Hermione's inquisitiveness and thirst for knowledge was somehow a bad thing. Harry frowned at him briefly, then decided he wasn't worth the effort and ignored him.

Hermione ignored him with practiced ease, utterly focused on Celestine.

Celestine, on the other hand? She locked onto him immediately, something fierce and dangerous pulling her lips into a truly frightening smile.

"Oh, I'm sorry Ronald, did you have something you wanted to say?" She tilted her head just a little too far to be curious; stepping into threateningly sarcastic range.

"Uhhh," Ron stammered out.

"Did you want to tell me _to my face_ that I'm not a _person,_ perhaps?" She snarled, fangs flashing as all traces of false cheer vanished as if they had never been there to begin with.

Ron sank into the loveseat behind him, legs having decided to just give up entirely. He didn't make a sound, but the wide, utterly _terrified_ look on his face told the whole story. He genuinely feared for his life at that moment.

Harry wondered if he should put a stop to this or not. It's probably no less than what he deserves for what he said, if he's honest with himself, and maybe it'll finally break through that thick skull of his, but Harry isn't really watching Ron.

No, he's too busy watching his own personal avenging angel let loose her righteous fury, and _thoroughly_ enjoying it.

"Or, do you not have the _spine_ to flaunt your prejudice in the face of those that you yourself would watch be eradicated without thought or _care_? You worthless _worm._ " She spat, literally spat on Ron's foot, in a move so utterly disrespectful that Harry knew that he'd have to use it on Snape if he ever got half a chance.

That managed to piss Ron off enough to shove his fear aside. Face thunderous, he shot to his feet and made to get in Celestine's face the way he had Harry earlier.

Harry, understanding on some instinctive level that Ron would likely not walk away from doing something so blasted stupid, stepped in front of her.

"Think carefully about what you're about to do, _mate._ " He warned, utterly serious.

Ron's face twisted in a sneer, and in the next instant he was throwing a wild right hook towards Harry's jaw. Harry tensed, ready to take it and then kick his _friend_ out of the room as quick and hard as possible.

The blow never landed.

Celestine's hand darted out over his shoulder, catching Ron's fist easily, despite his hand being larger than her own.

Surprised, Harry turned and saw that Celestine was leveling a black glare on the redheaded boy that had had the temerity to try and attack someone she had sworn _on her life_ to protect right in front of her. Harry had a moment to think 'oh Ron is fucked,' before Celestine used her grip on his fist to reel him in, catching him by the throat with her other hand, effectively bringing him and Harry face to face, with her pressed up against his back.

"Now, Ronald." She uttered lowly, nothing but malice in her voice and expression. Ron tried to say something, but she clamped down harder on his throat, literally choking his words away.

His free hand came up to scrabble at the gauntleted hand that Harry only just realized was holding him _off of the ground_.

"You are going to apologize." She started, practically hissing the words. Harry could feel them vibrating against him from how they were pressed together. He couldn't take his eyes away from the gradually purpling face of his former friend. He should probably be objecting right now; trying to get her to release Ron and not make her situation here any more tense than it needs to be, but Ron is prideful and Harry knows it.

He won't tell anyone what happened in this room unless he _really_ gets hurt.

"To me, yes, for the horrible things you have said about me and my people, but more importantly? You are going to apologize to _Harry_. And you are going to be sincere, aren't you? Since you care so much for your friend that you'd hate to hurt him, wouldn't you? Now, _speak_."

She relaxed her hold on his throat enough for him to breath, but not enough to escape her grasp. He coughed, roughly, and Celestine forcefully turned his head away so he didn't cough right in Harry's face.

He shouldn't feel touched by that little bit of care, given the circumstances. He really, _really_ shouldn't.

Once his coughing fit was over, Ron was turned to look at him again. Watery blue eyes met killing curse green, with nothing between them but his glasses, and one pissed off, protective vampire.

"I'm sorry." He muttered. "I'd have never said those things if I'd known you could hear me." Harry glowered, and he had a feeling Celestine did too, because Ron's eyes were fixed somewhere above him when he swallowed nervously.

"And I, I-" Then, just like that, Celestine tossed Ron away with a disgusted noise. He stumbled, but managed to stay on his feet.

"He doesn't even _understand_ what he did wrong. He's just a petulant child parroting what his parents taught him without thought. And he _knows it._ " Celestine hissed, arms wrapping protectively around Harry, holding him to her. He relaxed into her embrace immediately, covering her hands with his own.

Ron glared at them, but said nothing, having finally realized that he'd dug himself quite the hole and he should really put the shovel down now.

"Somehow, I'm not surprised." Harry whispered, more to himself than anything. Then, to Ron, he said: "Go. Think about this, will you? Really think about it. This doesn't have to be the end for us, Ron."

Ron's anger shuddered at that, as he realized that this fight was actually going to have lasting consequences. Harry watched as Ron fought with himself, between leaving, and staying to fight more, or staying and _really_ apologizing. Ron swayed on the spot, indecisive, for several long moments.

And then, Harry saw the moment Ron's wounded pride won the battle. He puffed himself up, snorted derisively, and then stormed out of the room without a word. The door slammed shut behind him hard enough to send dust raining down from the walls themselves.

For a long time, Harry just stared at the door Ron had fled through.

So.

That's that, is it?

Friends since they were eleven, and Ron can't even figure out how he fucked up?

He was Harry's _friend._ He was supposed to care. To listen. To _try_. Harry had. So, so many times over the years Harry had had to bend himself over backwards trying to understand his _best mate_. Every time Ron acted like learning about actual fucking _magic_ was _boring_ , and their time was better spent playing chess or exploding snap, Harry had wanted so _badly_ to argue.

Sometimes he did, but not often enough. Harry knows that his grades are a poor reflection of his true ability. All because he was trying not to rock the boat with Ron too much.

And all that did was push a wedge between him and Hermione, didn't it? A gangly, redheaded wedge that Harry is honestly relieved to have gone. Maybe now he'd be able to join Hermione in the library without feeling obligated to leave her earlier than he'd like. Because he _liked_ studying with Hermione. Ron just never let him do it.

Hermione, who was quietly sniffling behind him. He turned to look, and sure enough she had sagged into the loveseat proper, and was watching the door the same as him. He tapped Celestine on the arm, and she let him go without question, and then he was kneeling before his best friend.

"Hey," he said softly. "Don't cry, 'Mione. It'll be alright." She looked at him with wide, wet eyes.

"How can you _say that_ , Harry? Ron is your best friend, and he - and you -"

"This has been a long time coming, honestly." Harry sighed, and Hermione just looked shocked. "After last year, after the way he _abandoned_ me and _forced_ you to do the same - don't even argue, I know you didn't really want to distance yourself from me - I did some thinking. About him. About us. And I realized that he wasn't really the best person, and was _never_ my best friend."

Harry shook his head, but didn't shy away from Hermione's searching eyes.

"Today I realized that Ron wasn't the person I thought he was. He's been more of a weight around my neck these last few years than anything else. And I am so bloody tired of dragging around that dead weight." She still looked plainly shocked, so Harry leaned in closer, resting his arms casually on her knees.

"Aren't you?" He wondered. "You're the only reason Ron has passed _any_ of his classes at all. He's been a weight around your neck as much as he has been to me. Aren't you tired of dragging him along to success he isn't willing to work for himself?"

She blinked several times. "Well, yes." She admitted haltingly. "I just never expected you to realize how, how," she trailed off, unsure how to phrase it.

"How much of a useless twit he is?" Harry finished for her. Celestine chuckled, and Harry became aware of the fact that she was standing right next to him, her hand a comforting weight on his shoulder.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but he could see her fighting a smile. "I wanted to say: 'utterly feckless idiot.' But, that works too." Harry barked out a laugh, and Hermione stopped fighting her grin. "I'm proud of you Harry."

"What?" Harry asked, surprised.

"You stood up to him. _Really_ stood up to him when you disagreed with him on something truly important. You put your foot down, stood your ground, and didn't even flinch. That's usually _my_ job." She finished cheekily, but Harry looked plainly devastated as he realized how absolutely _right_ she was.

"Christ, 'Mione I'm so sorry. I should have done this ages ago, or better yet! Never let him walk all over me like I did. I don't -" He trailed off, too ashamed of himself to continue.

"I understand why you did, Harry, and I'm not upset with _you_ for it. I'm upset with _Ron_ for taking advantage of it." She finished venomously, but Harry got stuck on the first half of her statement.

"You understand?" He asked faintly.

"Well, yes," she started, suddenly unsure of herself. He gave her a pleading look, and she explained. "I, well, I had gathered from what little you told us, but more so what you _didn't_ tell us about your relatives, that your home life was, was _bad_."

Harry swallowed convulsively.

"And I knew that Ron was your first real friend. It would make sense, given your… _childhood_ , that you would latch onto the first person you found that treated you somewhat decently. And for all his faults, Ron was never unkind to _you_ , was he? Not until recently, that is."

"That makes such a scary amount of sense that I don't know how I didn't realize it myself." He muttered. "How long have you known that, well, about my _relatives_?"

"I suspected something at the start of second year, when it was clear that you had lost weight over the summer." Celestine drew in a breath, and let it out slowly in an effort to remain calm, so Harry took her hand in his and pulled her with him to sit on the loveseat next to Hermione.

He rather immediately realized that the loveseat was too small for three people to sit side by side comfortably when, rather than even _trying_ to squeeze in next to him, Celestine perched herself sideways on his lap, facing Hermione. Her arm wound around his neck, pulling them nearly face to face so Harry had to crane his neck back to meet her eyes, and her legs tucked under his own as easy as anything else. His arm went around her waist, ostensibly to keep her from falling off her perch.

In reality, he just wanted an excuse to hold her, and he knew it.

Within moments, Harry found himself with a lap full of Celestine, totally wrapped around him as best as she could manage in that position. He turned his face into her neck, took a deep, calming breath, and pressed his lips against her pulse point before he could overthink himself into inaction. She sucked in a breath in response, and let it out in a pleased sigh. Harry smiled cheekily, and turned to give Hermione his full attention again.

She was watching them with wide eyes, a blush staining her cheeks and beginning to creep down her neck.

"So, you suspected after second year?" He prompted when Hermione didn't look ready to say anything anytime soon. Celestine hummed encouragingly from her perch on his lap.

Hermione blinked and looked away, her throat working hard to dislodge her speechlessness.

"Right," She turned back to them after a moment, her shock gone and her blush already starting to fade.

Harry will never not be impressed by how fiercely she could maintain her focus despite any number of distractions.

"It wasn't until third year that I _knew._ " Harry gave her a questioning look, and she elaborated. "Sirius asked you, within an hour of meeting him, if you wanted to go away and live with him. _And you agreed._ You didn't even hesitate. That was the moment that I knew that your relatives must be … well, some form of awful or another. I try not to let myself imagine exactly _what_ kind of awful. Because, I _tried_ , Harry!" She finished, somewhat desperately.

"You _what?_ " He demanded.

Tears came to her eyes again, and she looked at him with such a crestfallen expression that it tore at his heart.

"I tried to find some way, _any_ way, magical or otherwise, to get you away from them. But I was rebuffed at every turn. All your records in the Ministry are sealed so only the Chief Warlock or the Minister themselves can access them, and every time I sent anonymous tips to the local Bobbies nothing came of it, no matter how blatant the tip was." She fumed, wiping furiously at her eyes.

"I have to assume that someone, a wizard most likely, was intercepting anything to do with you and preventing them from acting on it. Memory charms most likely. I'm sorry, Harry, I tried everything I could think of." She finished despondently.

Harry didn't know what to say. His best friend in the whole world had tried to get him taken from the Dursleys. She'd figured out, not the specifics, but the generalities of his life with them, and her first instinct was to get him _away._

God dammit, _why_ had it taken Harry so long to realize that Ron wasn't a real friend when he had blooming _Hermione_ to serve as an example all this time?

"Thank you, Hermione. _Thank you so goddamn much._ " He hardly managed to get the words out through the emotion trying so hard to choke his words away.

"But," Hermione started, utterly baffled. "I _failed._ Why are you thanking me?"

Harry shook his head, astonished beyond words that she didn't get it. It was Celestine that answered for him.

"You _tried_ , and that's the important thing. You cared enough to do everything in your power to get him away from a horrible situation. Whether you succeeded or not, the sentiment remains the same." She enunciated every word very carefully, making sure she left no room for misunderstanding. Harry nodded his head fervently along with her words.

"Yeah, and the fact that you even _noticed_ that anything was wrong to begin with is no small thing, 'Mione." Harry whispered. "No one else did. Not even Madame Pomfrey."

Hermione ducked her head, but she was smiling so Harry was confident she'd be taking what they said to heart. Then she looked at him again, consideringly.

"Forgive me if this is an insensitive question, but," She chewed on her lip in a moment of indecision before barreling on. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

Harry felt Celestine's attention swing to him and knew she was curious as well. He didn't see any point in lying, so he didn't.

"I did tell someone." He admitted. Then, before Hermione could ask the obvious follow up question: "I told the Headmaster."

Hermione rocked back, more shocked than Harry had ever seen her.

Harry continued. "He told me that no matter how much my family and I ' _disagreed with each other'_ that I would still be safest there, with them." A load of utter shite, if you asked him.

"But _why_?" Celestine asked while Hermione struggled to even breath in her shock.

"Blood wards, tied to my aunt." Harry answered simply. Celestine's mouth pressed into a thin line, unimpressed with that reasoning in the extreme.

"But, but that's - that can't -" Hermione's confusion gave way to sulphurous fury in an instant. " _It was him!_ " She shouted.

"What was him?" Harry asked, though he had a feeling where she was going with this.

"It was _fucking Dumbledore_ that was intercepting my attempts to get the Bobbies to investigate your relatives! Possibly indirectly, but _who else_ in this country would have that kind of influence? And you just spelled out his motivation! That absolute _bastard!_ When I get my hands on him I'm going to grab him by his stupid beard and _choke him with it!_ " She hissed and snarled and spat in her rage, so incredibly furious that the ever polite and respectful Hermione Granger cursed and _threatened_ an authority figure.

On his behalf.

Harry was so incredibly touched that he couldn't help but laugh a little. Hermione turned her fury on him the instant he did.

"This isn't funny!" She insisted, and Harry nodded his agreement.

"Oh, I know. Believe me, I know." He sobered. "I'll never forgive Dumbledore for leaving me with them, especially after he knew how terrible they really were. And when you choke him?" Harry and Celestine smiled the same viciously vindictive smile.

"We're going to help you." Celestine finished sweetly. Harry gave her waist an affectionate squeeze, and she managed to snuggle even closer to him in response.

"I was laughing because I was so touched by your concern, 'Mione." Harry added. Hermione flushed and scoffed.

"Anyone would be concerned, Harry." She said dismissively, but Harry shook his head, an affectionate smile pulling at his lips.

"And yet, only you, Sirius, and Celestine have been so far. Funny, that." Harry shrugged carelessly, truly not all that bothered by the low number. They may be few, but they are the best people Harry has ever met in his life and he wouldn't trade them for an army of people like Ron.

Hermione frowned, but didn't argue the point.

"How did you figure it out so quickly, Celestine?" Hermione asked. Celestine gave him a questioning look, and Harry knew what she was asking him.

Should she mention his scars?

After a moment of deliberation, Harry shook his head.

"I didn't," Celestine answered plainly. "Harry told me." Technically not a lie, which is a plus.

"But, you two _just met,_ why would you tell her something so private so soon?" Hermione was clearly hurt that Harry had told someone he just met something about himself that he hadn't shared with her in all the years they'd known each other.

"To be honest?" Harry started. "We spent almost the entire night together last night, and I know it isn't a very long time at all, but we just … I dunno, clicked?" He looked to Celestine for support, and she smiled adoringly down at him. Her eyes glittered, and Harry found himself, yet again, unable to look away.

"She _gets_ me in a way that I don't really have words to describe. I told her because I had a feeling that she would understand." He shrugged self consciously, knowing his reasoning probably sounds slightly mad.

Celestine bent down to press their foreheads together.

"I felt the same," she muttered less than an inch from his lips. Her breath ghosted across his lips, warm and buzzing with her magic, and it sent a lightning bolt of heat straight down his spine.

"We clicked together like we were two cogs in the same clock. Like we were made for each other." She breathed, and Harry had the sudden urge to close that infinitesimal gap between their lips and find out just how well they _really_ fit together.

Hermione cleared her throat, and Celestine jerked in his lap, clearly surprised. Harry blinked several times, willing the electric tension between them away as best he could.

He didn't exactly succeed.

She pulled away after a moment's hesitation, and they both turned to Hermione.

They'd completely forgotten she was there, hadn't they?

She was trying and failing to look like a disapproving parent, but the losing battle against her smirk gave her away.

"Well, _that_ certainly answers my question." She snarked. Harry felt like his face was about to combust with how hot it had become. He laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Are you sure? We could always spell it out for you." Celestine drawled suggestively, effectively turning the tables on Hermione as she immediately flushed and shook her head.

"Oh no, thank you! No demonstrations needed here. I've, ah, got the picture, yes." She stammered out as fast as she could. Harry chuckled genuinely.

"So, Hermione. What are your plans for the day?" Harry asked pleasantly. She immediately turned a harsh glower on the stain she'd been scrubbing earlier.

"Mrs. Weasley wants this room cleaned by dinner. She even threatened not to let us have lunch if we weren't progressing to her standards!" She scoffed. "If it weren't for that _one_ stain this room would be almost finished by now. I've been working on it for over an hour and a half to no avail!"

Called it!

"You're using the wrong cleaner." Celestine said, clearly amused. "You need something stronger to get old bloodstains out of hardwood."

Hermione's glare faded away, replaced with revulsion. "It had better not be human blood or I don't care what Mrs. Weasley says: I am _not_ cleaning that up."

Celestine gave her a patently fake look of deep sympathy. "Sorry dear, it most certainly _is_ human blood if I had my guess."

"Well then my day just opened up rather dramatically." She huffed. "Did you have something in mind, Harry?"

"I'd like to get the rest of the introductions over with. Think you could corral the rest of the Weasleys, and whoever else might be staying here, in the lounge downstairs for a meet and greet? Preferably without Missus Weasley or Ron being present."

She sniffed, playfully offended. "And here I thought you might ask me to do something difficult." She drawled and stuck her nose in the air in such a spot on impersonation of Malfoy that Harry burst out laughing. Hermione held the act long enough to raise a single unimpressed eyebrow his way before she broke, joining Harry in his mirth. Celestine giggled a bit, not knowing Malfoy well enough to get the joke but finding the over the top poshness of it all absolutely ridiculous.

"Yeah, Harry," she said eventually, still giggling a bit. "I can do that. Meet me down there in twenty minutes?"

"We'll be there." He and Celestine said in near perfect unison, only to look at each other and descend into giggling again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the first three chapters done a while ago. Originally intended them all to be one chapter, believe it or not. Don't go expecting updates to be this rapid moving forward. So! Celestine met Ron and Hermione. I promise I'm not gonna purposefully bash Ron, but I am going to portray him the way I see him. I won't lie, I don't like him. I think he's a shite friend in Goblet of Fire in ways that shouldn't be forgotten even if they are forgiven, and with this being right on the heels of that year, relatively speaking? Well, just makes sense for Harry to think the same way.
> 
> As always: your feedback gives me life, and I hope ya'll are doing well and succeeding at that thing that you've been working on so hard! Till next time.


	4. Meet and Greet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The other residents of Grimmauld Place officially meet Celestine.

**Chapter 4: Meet and Greet**

The meeting went better than Harry expected.

They sat everyone down: the twins, Ginny, Sirius was there and Harry was immensely grateful for that, Professor Lupin sat next to him, and surprisingly enough Tonks was found passed out in one of the guest rooms, recovering from a night shift at the DMLE. Hermione had, unfortunately, gotten roped into helping Missus Weasley prep supper. Harry and Celestine entered together, arm in arm as was becoming habit for them, no theatrics this time, and every eye shot to the pair as soon as they did.

Harry gave them all a pared down version of the previous night and that morning; just the essentials. They didn't need to know that he and Celestine had slept together - in the same bed, entangled in each other intimately, however you want to put it, for instance. But, everything of note in the Undercity, the confrontation with Missus Weasley, and later with Ron, was laid out before them. The twins howled with laughter at the idea of _Voldemort_ getting politely kicked out of anywhere. Ginny kept glancing between Harry and Celestine suspiciously, and he didn't really know what to make of that. Professor Lupin looked concerned, but other than an initial measuring look he basically ignored the vampire standing next to him, so Harry had high hopes there.

Tonks looked like she was having a bit of a crisis as the story unfolded. She went from alarmed, to panicked, to confused, to astounded, to looking like she was questioning everything she'd ever known by the end of the tale. Harry was sure it had something to do with the fact she was an Auror, but what exactly was a mystery to him.

Then Harry just had to wait and see how they took it all. Celestine's hand slipped into his and he held onto her tightly to ground himself.

The twins gave him unusually serious looks and rose as one to approach him. They clapped him on the shoulders when they reached him.

"That's some heavy shit." They said together.

"We can see why Mum and Ron reacted how they did," Fred started.

"But, we most certainly don't agree with them." George finished.

"We've got your back, mate." Fred vowed, and Harry beamed at them in response.

"Yeah, and if ickle Ronniekins kicks up a fuss, you let us know. We'll sort him out."

"We should probably do that anyway, brother mine."

"Too right, too right."

"Thanks Fred, George," He nodded to each of them in turn. Their eyes widened for a fraction of a second before turning sly. "It means a lot to me to have your support in this."

"No problem, Harry," Fred started. "But, I'm George. He's Fred."

"Ya know, I've never understood why everyone else falls for that." Harry wondered out loud before clapping their shoulders in return. Honestly, felt nothing alike- oh, right. Most people can't sense magic the way he can. Yeah, that'd do it. They looked a bit shocked before they laughed and left the room, presumably to find Ron.

Or maybe they just have mischief to cause elsewhere, who really knows with those two?

Ginny approached him next, standing defiantly, though in defiance of _what_ Harry had no idea.

"Everything I've ever been taught would lead me to distrust you." She stated matter of factly to Celestine. Worry gnawed at Harry; if she reacted how Ron did he was going to have a _real_ problem on his hands. Ginny is not one to be fucked with, if what he's heard in the rumor mill is to be believed. Celestine inclined her head in acknowledgement.

"I gathered as much from your brother's reaction." She replied neutrally.

"Don't expect me to react like that immature arse," Ginny snorted. "I actually know what tact is, _and_ how to use it."

"Do you now?" Celestine asked, eyebrow quirked disbelievingly, clearly baiting the young girl.

"When it suits me." Ginny shrugged with a smirk, then turned to face Harry. They were exactly the same height now, Harry realized. She didn't look like she was done growing either.

What the bleeding hells is this shite? Is Harry forever doomed to be the shortest one in the room?

Still, he gave her a genuine smile in greeting.

"Hey, Gin." He started. "Your thoughts on all this?"

"I'm reserving judgement for now." She shrugged again. "You were absolutely off your rocker going after Tom like you did, don't get me wrong, but I don't know fuck all about vampires, so we'll see how this goes, yeah?"

Harry blew out a relieved breath. "That's all I'm asking."

"And after what you did for me, what kind of arsehole would I be to refuse you that?" Then, under her breath but clearly directed at him: "Apparently I'd be my own Mum, or _worse._ Ronald. Ew!" She shuddered dramatically and Harry laughed.

"I'd rather you be _you_ then anyone else in the world Gin. Don't ever let anyone change you, yeah?" He clapped her on the shoulder, and she blushed pretty heavily, but didn't duck her head or flee from the room.

She _did_ make an excuse about helping the twins knock some sense into Ron, and strut from the room, but it isn't fleeing so Harry would call it an improvement.

Tonks leapt onto her feet, having to windmill her arms about to keep herself from immediately faceplanting.

"Welp, this has been fun folks, but I've got some shopping that needs doing before my next shift." She gave them all a jaunty salute, clapping Harry once on the shoulder as she passed, but he saw how her smile seemed a bit fixed, her steps a bit too quick, and her hair was a rather dour looking shade of nervous blue.

"Mind if I talk to you alone, Harry?" Professor Lupin asked kindly right as Harry was about to rush after Tonks and ask her if she was alright.

"Er, yeah, sure thing." He stuttered out. "Don't let Tonks leave just yet, I wanna talk to her." He whispered to Celestine, hopefully quietly enough that the werewolf's enhanced hearing didn't pick it up.

She gave him a significant look, nodded her head, and stepped backwards into the shadow of a rather large bookcase near the door.

Harry blinked and she was gone.

"God damn, I need to ask her to teach me how to do that." He muttered to himself, then moved to sit in an armchair near the couch Sirius and Professor Lupin were sharing.

"So," he started, a touch nervously. "What's on your mind, Professor?"

"There's no need to call me professor anymore, Harry. I'm working in construction now, you know. Call me Remus." The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled, a dry, wry little thing, and Harry relaxed, just a tad.

"Remus, then. What's on your mind?"

He leaned forward, face serious, all good humor gone in an instant. "Harry, do you know _who_ that woman is?"

"Her name's Celestine. She's Lord Livius' daughter, and therefore basically vampiric royalty." He answered promptly, as if he was being called on in class. That habit is going to be hard to break with Professor- _Remus_.

"Yes, you said as much earlier, but have you any idea of what reputation she has?" Harry shook his head. "I've never been to the Undercity, but I've heard stories, passed along by the various packs I've walked with over the years. They call her the silver eyed devil, the shadow-walker that brings only death. She's a killer, Harry."

Harry remembered the conviction in her voice when she promised to kill his relatives. How sure of herself and her decision to kill them she was. And he remembered how he had agreed. Agreed, and decided to watch it happen for his own sake.

"So? I'm a killer too." He pointed out. Remus leaned back, clearly startled, and Sirius' eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

"What!?" His godfather barked.

"I killed Professor Quirrel at the end of my first year. Didn't Dumbledore ever mention that? To _anyone?_ " They shook their heads.

"I was under the impression his death was some sort of _accident_." Remus breathed. "What happened?" Sirius nodded his head, pointing at Remus as if to say 'yes! What he said!'

"He was playing host to the disembodied spirit of Voldemort," Remus looked like he might faint, he'd gotten so pale, and Sirius' shock was giving way to a growing rage.

"I found out someone was trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone Dumbledore was safekeeping in the school, in an attempt to resurrect the Dark Tosser, so Ron, Hermione, and I went to stop them."

"Why didn't you tell a teacher?" Remus asked, as faint as he looked at the moment.

"I _did_. McGonogall didn't believe us. To be fair, we did have the wrong suspect in mind, but we weren't actually _wrong_." He was still bitter about that. His head of house never believed him when it came to important matters. It seemed, to him, that she cared more about quidditch and the House Cup than anything else outside of the classroom.

Sirius was grinding his teeth together now.

"In the end, I had to face him alone, and I found out that Mum had left some sort of protection in my blood. It burned him to touch me." He looked at his hands, flexing his fingers and wondering at the magic his mother wove into his blood.

"So, I grabbed his face and held on until he crumbled to dust in my hands. He screamed the whole time." He swallowed forcefully, banishing the memory. He didn't regret killing him, but the sound of his screams as he burned will always unsettle him.

"So, yeah. Her being a killer doesn't exactly change my opinion of her."

Remus fell back against the couch, looking utterly lost, while Sirius jerked to his feet and started pacing.

"That was just your first year?" Sirius demanded, and Harry nodded.

"Wasn't the only time I almost died that year, but yeah." Sirius stopped, shooting him a disbelieving look.

"Explain, pup." Harry shrank into himself in the face of Sirius' anger, and his godfather immediately backtracked.

"I'm not mad at _you_ , Harry." He intoned softly. "I'm struggling with the idea that Dumbledore would allow such a dangerous situation to befall you under his care. Please, pup, there was Quirrell, the fiasco in Third Year, the Tournament last year, what else?"

"Alright, so Halloween of my first year this troll got in the castle…"

Several minutes later, Sirius was sitting down again, face in his hands. Remus had gone to retrieve a bottle of firewhiskey and was pouring them all a glass.

"I think, after everything you've just told us, a drink is in order." He handed Harry a shot glass of the flaming liquid. He eyed it dubiously, having never understood his classmates obsession with it. The alcohol itself burned something fierce, and it was _on fire_ besides. Still, he shrugged and knocked the shot back. The warmth it spread in his belly was somewhat nice, at least.

"I've never liked this stuff, but thanks for the thought, Remus." He said just as Remus and Sirius were taking their own shots. He'd been somewhat hoping one or the other would do a spit take at his nonchalance. He's too young to be drinking yet, least not the hard stuff, after all, but they both just smiled, amused at some joke he wasn't privy to.

"It takes some getting used to, though to be fair, most people don't drink it for the taste." Remus explained, still smiling.

"Dumbledore really has failed you, and that whole school, an awful lot, hasn't he?" Sirius muttered darkly. Harry just shrugged, having not thought about it in depth much, though now that he was…

"Yeah, suppose he has." He muttered. Remus' smile fell away and he poured them both another shot. Harry politely refused another when Remus gave him a questioning glance. One is plenty for him. Won't even get him buzzed, but to be honest he can't stand the feeling of being drunk so all's the better.

For a long while they sat in companionable silence. Sirius worried his glass, contemplating whether to get a third shot or not. Remus with his head laid back, searching the heavens for answers to who knows what questions he was asking himself. Eventually, Harry decided to address Remus' actual concern which started this whole discussion.

"Now, I can probably guess that Celestine has killed more people than me. That doesn't bother me. What I want to know is _why_ she's been killing them." He speared Remus with a serious look. Or, at least what the rumors _say_ about why she's killing people. He's not about to let hearsay change his opinion of her.

He's not Ron.

The man set his glass down with a weighty sigh.

"We know that she used to be one of Rome's greatest generals, in times long since passed, but nowadays? Some say she's one of the Undercity's chief enforcers. Others say that she's an assassin, or the captain of the guard for the Undercity, but all agree that she hunts those that threaten the safety or sanctity of the Undercity."

"That's not exactly a bad reason to kill people." Harry pointed out. Remus blinked, clearly surprised at his assertion.

"You haven't been there. You haven't _seen_ it. You don't know how homely it feels. How _alive_ it is. Thirteen thousand people live there that have no right to life or liberty under Ministry law. Hell, _I'd_ kill to protect that place and the people within it, and I've only spent a few hours there."

Remus considered him for a long time.

"You have a kind heart, Harry. Take care that you don't let people take advantage of it."

"I'm not naive, Prof- Remus. The oath we swore was something we _both_ agreed on, and it's no unbreakable vow. I'm confident when I tell you that she isn't taking advantage of me."

Remus looked ready to protest, but Sirius cleared his throat.

"I'm with Harry on this one, Moony."

"You are?" Remus turned wide eyes on his old friend.

Sirius nodded. "I saw how protective of him she is. When Molly was a moment away from attacking her, and I split her and Harry up, she could have easily fled from the room to protect herself. But no, she grabbed him up and weaved an impressive little blood shield around the both of them instead. At the very least, she cares about his well-being."

Remus shook his head. "I'll admit, it's a little hard to imagine the woman I've heard such violent stories of acting like that."

"Why?" Harry jumped in. "Even according to the rumors about her, she only kills out of protectiveness for her people. Why is it so hard to believe that she'd be protective of me if she cares about me?" Harry was starting to get agitated, now. If he would just _trust_ him!

Remus held up a hand, asking for peace. "It's not that I don't believe that it's possible. It's that I have a hard time believing that she could come to care about you so fast. It's not often that such quick connections form between people."

Harry ran his hand through his hair and let out an irritated sigh. He knows Remus wasn't trying to make it sound like _he_ was impossible to care for, but it hurt all the same.

"Look, I get that, but what about my life is commonplace exactly? Surviving the killing curse? Killing a professor at eleven? A basilisk at 12? With a ruddy _sword?_ Face it, Remus, odd shit happens to me. This is just another in a laundry list, but for once it's a _good_ thing."

Remus didn't look convinced, not entirely, but he was listening, and that's something.

"He has a point, Moony." Sirius laid a hand on Remus' shoulder.

"Just. Think about it. Give her a chance. I promise she won't let you down." Harry stood. "I'll talk to you both later, yeah?"

**Some minutes earlier…**

Celestine stepped back into the shadow of a bookshelf, sinking into it with a thought. Her awareness shifted, spreading throughout the musty old manor. As if she were a many eyed, formless creature; a penumbra that lived in every darkened corner, beneath every forgotten cupboard, in the shadow cast by an especially ugly troll leg umbrella stand as it scooted, seemingly of its own accord, directly into the path of the Auror currently fleeing her presence.

Her thoughts were a jumble; a great, tangled mess of confusion as what the Ministry preached warred with the story Harry had told her only moments ago. Around and around she went in her head, unable to reconcile the radically opposed viewpoints espoused by two things she trusted greatly: the Ministry to which she has sworn her allegiance, and Harry. Funny that the young man she hardly knows already holds as much sway over her as an entire government. Already Celestine could see how she was drifting away from the Ministry's control, her loyalty to them a fairly flimsy thing: a veil over her eyes that she was already tearing holes into. She's confident that if left to her own devices, Auror Tonks won't betray them.

But Harry has asked her to hold her back, and so she shall. He intends to discuss more than just the Ministry with her, after all. And she'd like to ask her a few questions of her own.

The ghastly umbrella stand planted itself in place with a firmness that couldn't be natural, and the Auror went tumbling ass over tea kettle. Celestine drew herself up from the shadows, materializing just in time to catch the Auror around the waist in a facsimile of a hug.

"Merlin _dammit!_ I swear that thing was on the other side of the hallway earlier. Thanks for the save there-" She looked up, their eyes met, she whispered a quiet _shit_ , and Celestine smiled. She wanted to reassure the woman with something gentle, but her amusement at the situation turned her grin into something that had too many teeth to be comforting for a human, wizard or not. The metamorph paled, her hair turning the color of fresh snow in an instant, as her eyes widened dramatically for the barest hint of a moment before narrowing suspiciously.

"It _was_ on the other side of the hall." Celestine set the Auror back on her feet and stepped away, leaning casually against the door and effectively cutting off the metamorph's only real escape route. Her wand was in her hand in an instant, and Celestine noted how Tonks' thoughts were sharpening, focusing rather than scattering when put under pressure. Even her stance now was firmer, more balanced than she'd seen it before. Impressive. She has the makings of a great _bellator_.

"You trip me up so you could keep me from leaving?" The Auror accused heatedly, her thoughts full of how she imagines the vampire intends to kill her and what she can do to prevent it, and Celestine chuckled lightheartedly.

"No. My best guess is that that," she gave the umbrella stand a disgusted look. " _Abomination_ of interior decorating has been enchanted to inconvenience you specifically. It moved itself to trip you."

"Fucks sake, Sirius. I'm going to thump you good for this." Tonks muttered to herself.

"You actually believe me?" She couldn't keep the surprise from leaking into her tone. She'd fully expected to have to argue her case. That so many of Harry's friends had been willing to give her, and by extension vampires in general, a chance to earn their trust had been one thing, but for this _Auror_ to do the same? Next you tell her the Gods be-damned _lycanthrope_ is going to try and become her best friend.

"Two reasons for that. For one: that's the exact kind of thing Sirius would do. I can't believe I hadn't realized it sooner, to be honest with you. That dratted _thing_ trips me every fucking time I come through here. I'm clumsy, but _every time?_ That's just ridiculous. Reason the second: it seems a bit beneath you to do something so childish to get my attention, doesn't it?"

Celestine smirked. "I'm not above a good joke, but that's not exactly a _good_ one, now is it?"

Tonks snorted, amusement suffusing her thoughts and helping to lower her guard just the slightest bit.

"Harry asked me to hold you back." Celestine continued. "He'd like to speak to you. It's rather important, and we both know you don't actually have any shopping to do."

"Stupid excuse, that was." She admonished herself with a sigh. "Right, fine. I can stick around for a bit." Tonks turned, clearly headed for the kitchen, hoping to have their conversation in a public venue. Or as public as it gets in this manor house.

"Auror Tonks," she stopped, turning back with a suspicious glint to her eyes. "If you would follow me?" She gestured up the steps. "This is a conversation best had in private, and away from certain _matrons_ that have already attempted to harm me, who are currently prepping an exorbitant amount of food for supper." More precisely, the hag was in the midst of chopping an enormous amount of vegetables with far more force than necessary, all the while imagining that the celery stalks were Celestine's fingers. How pathetically vindictive of her.

"Ya know, I'm rather keen on avoiding Mrs. Weasley myself. Getting tired of her making snide comments about how I dress at every turn." This Auror was rather good at using the truth to mask her nerves, Celestine was coming to learn. If she wasn't making a conscious effort to immerse herself in her thoughts, she'd have never guessed how nervous she actually was.

"She'd rather you dress like a _proper witch_ , I take it?" Celestine scoffed as she led the other woman up the stairs to her room.

"You're no more a fan of that phrase than I am." Tonks pointed out with a wry smirk.

"Who is she to decide what is and is not _proper?_ If your clothes are that displeasing to her eyes, she can always avert them." No matter where, or when, or in what culture, there are _always_ nosy busybodies trying to push their perception of what is _right_ and _proper_ on those around them. She's never had the patience for them.

"Preaching to the choir there, sister." Celestine ushered the other woman into her room, pulling the door shut behind her. With a flick of her wrist and barely a thought, the blood wards she'd woven into the doors reawakened, setting her awash in their comforting, crimson glow. Tonks eyed the floating letters with growing apprehension and self recrimination. Her grip on her wand tightened, her weight went to the balls of her feet, ready to move at a moment's notice.

"Yes, this _would_ be a rather precarious situation you've gotten yourself into," Celestine answered the Aurors racing thoughts with a grin, and her eyes widened, then narrowed as anger stole away her shock. " _If_ I was intending you any sort of harm. Luckily, I just want to talk."

"How are you reading my mind? My occlumency barriers are some of the best in the brigade." She demanded, wand leveled unerringly on the vampire's face. Close enough that she would have to go cross eyed to see it properly. She looked beyond the weapon instead, focusing on the metamorph's eyes while a lazy smile pulled at her lips.

"Legilimency and telepathy are two _very_ different things, _Nymphadora Vulpecula Tonks._ " She probably shouldn't taunt the poor girl, but she's curious what she'll do.

"Get. _Out_. Of my head." She growled, the tip of her wand glowing with a barely restrained spell.

"What spell is it you intend to cast on me? Bludgeoner? Piercing hex? You have so many options floating around up there. Pick one. Go on. _**Do it**_." The command seeped in, a barely there whisper of suggestion, and Tonks' training kicked in. A spell, drilled into her head during specialist training, effective at fighting both vampires and werewolves. The Silver Stake, a foot long rod of sharpened silver, conjured at speed, leapt from her wand, crossed the sparse few inches between it and Celestine's throat, and embedded itself there with a wet _thunk_. It had nearly gone all the way through; Tonks could see the sharp end sticking out the back of her neck, and blood had splattered onto the wall behind her. The vampire staggered back, eyes wide in shock. She opened her mouth to say something, but all that came out was a sickening gurgle as blood burst forth from around the spike and between her lips in equal measure.

Tonks blinked, breathing heavy, heart racing, as dread took root in her heart.

"Oh god! Shite shite, I didn't mean to actually _cast it!_ " She rushed forward, intent on helping, but Celestine batted the wand out of her hand, then, faster than she could react, shoved her square in the chest, knocking the breath out of her, and sending her flying back to land hard on her arse at the foot of the bed. She looked up, and Celestine was there, towering over her, eyes having gone as red as the blood that was _sizzling_ and smoking around the silver spike in her throat. She reached up, grasped the spike in one hand, and pulled it out in one smooth motion, releasing a great spurt of crimson that splattered down the front of her armor and onto Tonks' face. It was unsettlingly warm on her skin. With an effortless flick of the wrist, she sent the spike sailing through the air to embed itself into the floor, not even an inch away from the Auror's crotch.

The message was clear: if she intended to hurt her, then _she would_.

Then, to Tonks' horror, she _smiled_. It wasn't small and fond like the smile she'd kept sending Harry while he told his tale. No, this was an ear to ear baring of sharp, bloodied teeth. There was a certain madness there, a fierce revelry that Tonks had never seen before which lit up her vermillion eyes with something like _excitement_.

The blood stopped spreading, stopped spilling forth from her wound, turning instead to recede back into the body it had come from, while the splatter along the wall behind her, and down her cuirass flowed through the air in wisps of shadowed crimson that withdrew into her wound, until, as the last few drops of blood were whisked away from Tonks' own face, she stood unmarred, as if nothing had even happened.

"The Auror has teeth. I think I'm going to like you." The vermillion hue to her eyes drained away, replaced with the silver glass that they had been before Tonks caught her by surprise.

"What- but- _how!?"_ Tonks spluttered. That spell should have _killed her_. Everything her instructors had taught her said that impalement with silver should be debilitating _at best_ for a vampire. Celestine chuckled throatily.

"I'm surprised, to tell you the truth. I hadn't thought it would be so easy to push you over the edge."

"You _ordered_ me to do it! I didn't actually want to!" Tonks denied heatedly, jumping onto her feet.

"I only ordered you to _pick a spell_. I never said anything about casting it. That was all _you_." The vampire insisted with vicious amusement. Tonks glared at her, crossing her arms defensively. She knew Celestine was telling the truth, deep down in the darkest parts of her heart. Her denial won't last.

"How did you know I wouldn't pick the Killing Curse, huh?"

"You were pissed off and not a little bit frightened. It takes legitimate _hate_ to cast that spell. In that moment, you didn't have it in you to cast it." She rather doubted the Auror would ever be able to summon that kind of black hate. That moment was all training; the will to survive compounded by fear, driving her to protect herself. Admirable, really.

"I meant it: stay _out_ of my head." Tonks insisted forcefully, and Celestine had to respect the strength of her spine.

"As you wish." She'd honor her wishes. For now. She'd earned that much. Tonks eyed her for a moment, then sighed and wiped a hand down her face.

"This kind of shit is the exact reason that most wizards are so fecking _scared_ of your kind. Messing with people's minds, invading their privacy. It just isn't _done._ "

Celestine's smile fell away. "Is that right? Just not done?" She glared down at the shorter woman. "Wizards _never_ meddle with the thoughts of their fellow man, is that it? They _don't_ practice legilimency without any sort of legal ramifications. They _don't_ have entire _squads_ of government funded obliviators wandering the countryside, wiping the minds of anyone they deem fit at a moment's notice."

"The obliviators are just doing their job." Tonks insisted, but Celestine only arched a single, unimpressed eyebrow at the weak argument. "They're enforcing the law." She added, but it came out weakly, and she didn't need telepathy to know Tonks didn't quite buy that excuse herself.

"That doesn't make what they're doing _right._ The law in the Wizarding world is a sham; a mangled mess of loopholes designed to serve the aristocracy, and keep the common man under foot. _Pro pudor!_ Love potions are still legal in your world! They've been banned in the Undercity since their invention more than seventy years ago."

Tonks opened her mouth, shut it again, and took on an introspective mien. "Shit, you may have a point." _Good,_ this one is actually using her head. After the debacle with Ron, she was concerned that every witch or wizard raised in this world would be just as stubborn and shortsighted.

"So what exactly makes what I did any different than a talented legilimens accomplishing the same end through different means? Why is one of them given little more than a slap on the wrist while my people are hunted and killed?"

Tonks snorted. "Hard to imagine your people being all that easy to kill after what I just saw." Irritation flared in her chest, and she had to choke back a snarl. She didn't _know_ , she had _no idea_ how many had died. How much had been lost since they were declared _Maledictus Creaturae_. Damn Constantine to the lowest circle of his Christian hell! Let the daemons have his bones.

"I am exceptional. Most of my kind are no harder to kill than you are." She ground out, only just keeping her irritation in check. "But that's not the point. Answer the question, Auror Tonks. Why do I deserve such fear and scorn?"

"You'd have to be a blasted _idiot_ not to be afraid of _you_." True enough, but not her point. A healthy dose of respect is a far cry from outright _fear._ "No doubt in my mind you could have killed me a dozen different ways after you … _reassimilated._ "

"I prefer the term _regenerated_ , myself. And of course I could have. Just as Harry would have killed you a dozen different ways when he found my corpse at your feet. Why aren't you afraid of _him_?"

"I _know_ him, and I know he wouldn't hurt someone unless they well and truly deserved it." Tonks huffed, clearly getting exasperated.

"You don't think you'd have deserved death after murdering me in cold blood?" Celestine asked, purposefully missing her actual point in order to make her own.

"You were in my head!" She shouted.

"And that justifies my death, does it?" She tilted her head, voice completely level, as casual as if she were discussing the weather.

"No," Tonks admitted after a long moment, heaving a tremendous sigh as the fight went out of her. "No, it doesn't. Just like your abilities don't justify the way the Ministry treats you. Just like my being a metamorphmagus didn't justify the way people treated me in school." There was a bitterness there, and Celestine had to restrain herself from reaching out to discern the source of it. She could guess well enough without having to _know_.

More importantly: she'd made the connections Celestine was leading her to. Not exactly the path she had intended the conversation to go after her little stunt, but a good outcome nonetheless.

"Let us start again. I am Celestine, daughter of Erasmus Livius, Lord of the Undercity. It's a pleasure to meet you." She sent the Auror a small, genuine smile and a shallow curtsy, fully aware of how ridiculous she must look curtsying in full armor. It really, _really_ is a pleasure. This one shows so much promise.

"I'm Tonks. _Just_ Tonks. Don't you go blabbing my other names to anyone, you hear? They're both ghastly." She scowled. Celestine thought her names were both rather lovely, actually, but she'll be keeping that to herself for now.

"Now that we have that out of the way, I was actually hoping to ask you a few questions." Tonks blinked a few times, struggling to remember _why_ she was actually up here to begin with for a moment.

"Whaddya wanna know?"

"Tell me about the Order of the Phoenix."

Tonks eyed her, weighing something in her mind for a moment. "Suppose Harry will tell you all about it, won't he? And really, you've sworn to see to Moldyshorts' end, same as us, so where's the harm in it?" Celestine shrugged elegantly, letting the woman justify her actions to herself however she likes.

Some minutes later, Celestine was pacing the room while the shadows that clung to the room stretched and quivered in time with her steps. Tonks had flopped back onto the bed, fiddling with her wand and drawing abstract, glowing shapes in the air over her head.

"The Order's not accomplishing anything of _substance_!" She snarled, frustrated beyond belief that the whole thing amounted to little more than babysitting Harry and the Hall of Prophecies of all things. "While keeping Harry safe is paramount, there are much better ways of doing it than just _watching him_. That's a passive defense, and a weak one at that. Voldemort is the most powerful sorcerer of the last century, what would one lone guard have been able to do had he shown up at Privet Drive?"

"I've said the same thing, but Dumbledore's the one calling the shots." Tonks is as frustrated as she is, but it's an old frustration for her. One that's had time to cool, mellowed by her respect for the man with too many names, but Celestine's anger burns hot and bright at the staggering _incompetence_ of it.

"Are you his slave?" She demanded sharply.

"No!" Tonks squawked, banishing the shapes she'd drawn with a flick of her wrist. She sat up so she could spear the vampire with a disbelieving look, which she met with a sneer.

"Then stop acting like it." She cut her hand through the air, her own shadow lengthening, twisting, turning to something that could have never been human with the force of her ire. "There is a better way to go about this, which is part of why Harry wanted to talk to you to begin with."

"So how would _you_ go about it then?" Tonks tilted her head, her hair shifting to a shade of yellow that somehow managed to look curious. A lock of hair fell in her face, and she grimaced at it. It turned hot pink in the next instant.

If she were to drink her blood, would it enhance her own shapeshifting abilities? She's never heard of another Pureblood Striga having the pleasure of metamorph blood before. Would her taste reflect her current shape, or would it be immutable? Perhaps one day she'll find out. For now, she has more important things to worry about.

"Train him. Teach him the art of war and combat. Help him become the warrior he is destined to be." She's seen it, _tasted it_ , knows in her heart that Harry is a man of purpose. A fated child. Like Romulus and Remus, or the ever _vaunted_ Merlin, he will reshape the world.

The door opened, and Celestine whirled on the spot, hand going to the hilt of her sword. How did anyone get through her _sigillum?_ It's not impenetrable, but it would have taken a master of blood magic to tear it down without her sensing it.

Harry stopped in the doorway, tilting his head, concern shining in his eyes as he took in her hunched stance, and the tenseness drawing at every line of her body.

Of course, she had drank a small measure of his blood before she cast it, had she not? _Of course_ he'd be able to walk through it. He is a part of her now. With a relieved sigh, she straightened, and sent him a reassuring smile. He met her gaze, his own burning like balefire in the low light of the room as he concentrated, and then his voice sounded in her mind.

_Are you alright, Celestine?_

She took in a shuddering gasp, eyes wide, before darting forward to cradle his face in her hands. "You did it on purpose this time!" She beamed, utterly delighted. He just smirked and shrugged, as if to say 'yeah? So what?' She laughed, low and breathless, as her mind sought the comforting warmth of his thoughts. He'd only copied what he'd felt in the throne room, throwing his magic in her general direction while _willing_ his thoughts to reach her. That he'd tried over a dozen times to reach her on his way up the stairs, and only just now succeeded is irrelevant. _He did it_. Without any formal instruction, without being a Pureblood Striga, without all those advantages that she had seen given to hundreds over the centuries and _still_ watched them fail to master the technique, he. Had. Done it!

_Oh, meae deliciae. You don't even know how impressive you are._

Her deliciae blushed, but he didn't shy away from her adoring gaze. No, he met it head on, and she felt him pressing in on her mind again, a tangled web of gratitude, affection, inadequacy, and a blinding mass of hope/determination/protectiveness. His way of expressing the feelings he has no words for. She glanced down to his lips, wanting so very desperately to show him with actions how much his feelings are returned.

"Oh don't mind me, just go off in your own little world, why don't you." Tonks teased good naturedly, though Celestine could sense her good humor hid a very real concern for Harry's well-being that at once grated on her and reassured her. That others cared for his safety beyond the most basic sense is greatly reassuring, and she is glad of any and all support she'll find in this place, but the implicit lack of trust in _her_ will always leave a sour taste in her mouth.

Literally, if she ever deigns to drink from any of these people.

Harry startled at Tonks' voice, breaking eye contact to find her where she was likely still sat on the bed. Celestine didn't rightly care that they had an audience, and was mostly just annoyed that their moment of intimacy had been broken by the metamorph. She reluctantly let her hands fall from him, but he caught them up before she could step away, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm as casually as you please. She squeezed his arm, gratitude shining in her eyes, and he had the audacity to wink, _wink_ at her! Before he addressed the Auror.

"You seemed a bit out of sorts earlier, Tonks. Everything alright?" Concern knit his brows together, and Celestine let her annoyance fade away as she was reminded that Tonks _was_ in the midst of a crisis of faith, so to speak, not even an hour prior.

"Eh, just a lot to digest, ya know?" She waved his concern away with a flippant wave of her hand, and Celestine couldn't contain her amused smirk from how drastic of an understatement that really is for her.

"I figure it would be, what with your job being what it is. Legally speaking, what are you supposed to do in regards to Celestine and I?" He gestured between them for good measure. He's asking the right questions, and Celestine was once more impressed by him, and she let him know; brushing her mind against his affectionately, and loving how it made his breath catch and his heart skip a beat.

Tonks' eyes darted between them fitfully for a moment, chewing on her lip in thought. "Technically speaking? If I follow the _letter_ of the law and not the _spirit?_ I should have already reported her presence here and summoned a squad of Aurors to detain her for questioning."

Questioning. What a lovely way of saying _execution._

Harry stiffened at her side, his hand casually slipping into his pants pocket to grip his wand. Just in case. She's confident he won't need it, but his caution brings a smile to her face nonetheless.

"But I'm not going to do that!" Tonks hastened to add, not having missed his sudden tenseness. He narrowed his eyes at the Auror, trying to judge her honesty. He nudged her, shooting her a questioning look, and she nodded her head. They can trust her, she's sure of it.

"Alright, we really appreciate that." He sent the Auror a small, but totally genuine smile. He withdrew his hand from his pocket to run it through his hair, mussing it up even more than it already was. "I had a favor I wanted to ask you, actually."

"Whatchya need?"

"I've got a war in front of me. I've sworn to fight it, and it would have found me even if I hadn't, but I don't … exactly know how to fight. I was rather hoping you'd be willing to teach me a bit about duelling the Auror's way."

Tonks frowned regretfully. "I'm sorry mate, really I am, but quite frankly I just don't have the time. I've been getting hit with overtime lately, and add in the shifts I'm obligated to take watching your house?" She shrugged helplessly.

"Dumbledore's still having you watch my relative's house even when I'm not there?" Harry asked, genuinely confused.

"Well, yeah?"

" _Why?_ "

"Well we gotta keep them safe even when you're not around."

Harry snorted derisively. "What a waste of time. Feel free to skip out on any of your shifts watching those louts. In fact," A devious glint came to life in Harry's eye, and Celestine found she rather liked it. "When's your next shift watching them?"

"Er, tomorrow, from four to ten in the evening. Why?"

"Don't be there for it." He said, deathly serious, and Celestine smiled viciously, desire settling like hot coals low in her belly.

"Alright," she agreed, shooting him a dubious look, and this time Celestine _had_ to know what she was thinking. If she rescinded on this it could cause them serious _problems_. Not insurmountable ones, but annoying nonetheless. Thankfully, though she was suspicious, she also had _some_ inkling of how Harry was treated by his relatives, and honestly didn't care what happened to them if she wasn't there to watch them.

The Auror stood, brushing her hands against her pants, the memory of Celestine's blood splashing across her face playing behind her eyelids with a surge of regret. She'd really not wanted to hurt her, how very interesting.

"Well, I do really got to get going this time. My shift starts soon." _Soon_ is putting it strongly, she has three hours left before she's expected to report in, but Celestine won't begrudge her desire to unpack in solitude.

"Alright Tonks. Be seeing you." Harry gave her a two finger salute and a grin.

"It was a pleasure meeting you." Celestine inclined her head, smirk in full force as she put her sigillum to sleep with a thought, unnecessarily, as it happens. That particular sigillum only seals people _out_ , but has no bearing on those already _within_ it. But Tonks didn't know that. The Auror chuckled, just a tad nervously.

"It was certainly something. Oh!" She stopped just as she was about to close the door behind her. "Sirius was an Auror before, well. Before. He'd probably be able to train you up just as well as I could, _and_ having something worthwhile to do would do him some good, I think."

Harry perked up, sending the metamorph a blinding smile. "I'm such an idiot for not thinking of that myself! Thanks Tonks. You have a good one."

"You too, mate." And then she was gone.

"Think we should go talk to Sirius about-" Harry started, but then Celestine was cradling his face in her hands, her gauntlets discarded like so much trash in her desperation to feel his skin on hers, to feel the rush of blood just beneath the surface as his heartbeat picked up, to feel the thrum of his magic; a deep well of untapped potential, just waiting to be unleashed. Pushing him back until he was trapped between her and the door. She pressed her forehead to his, spearing his deadly beautiful eyes with an intensity that surprised him.

Their lips were less than inch apart, and she could feel the hot puff of his breath on her lips; a scintillating temptation. Fifteen, he's only fifteen, she reminded herself fiercely, trying to resummon her resolution from the previous night even as she _cursed_ modern conceptions of age and adulthood, and failing spectacularly as his arms wrapped around her, pulling her flush against him.

"Celestine," he murmured, and then his mind was pressing into hers; a spear of his desire, his respect, his _admiration_ and _devotion_ flowing into her, and she gasped even as she met his feelings with her own. Like a flaming sword, her passion thrust forth, setting them both alight from the inside.

" _Fuck_ ," he gasped, and then his hand was tangled in her hair, and he was tugging her down to press his lips against hers. To hell with _modernity,_ she kissed him back with fervor. She knew that this was his first kiss, entangled with his mind as she was, but she had roughly twenty-five centuries of experience to draw from, and their connection was no longer a one way street. She drew him into her, showing him in thought and deed how to draw such sweet sighs and moans up from within her, and he, as always, impressed her. His enthusiasm was endless, eagerness making up for any lack of technique and stoking the coals in her belly up into a steady hearthfire.

Soft. So soft and warm and _alive_ and _mine, mine, always yours._ Their thoughts crashed together, mixing and twisting until it was hard to tell who was thinking what. All they knew was that they _wanted_ , they _belonged_.

She drew his lip between her teeth, letting it slip out oh so deliciously, but her eyes sprang open in concern when she tasted his blood, so much sweeter and deeper than any she had ever tasted before, on her tongue. She pulled away, concerned she'd hurt him, but he met her with hooded eyes, glittering with desire, and ran his tongue over the bleeding divots she had left in his lip with a satisfied smirk. Then he was surging forward again, bloodied lips pressing against her own without hesitation, and her tongue shot out to lap up the sweet vitae with a low, pleased groan. He welcomed her tongue, his own meeting hers in a fierce dance, clumsily at first, but growing confident and daring within moments.

When they pulled away to catch their breath, there was blood smeared across his mouth and chin, dripping down onto his shirt, and a single, sticky strand of it connected them, thrumming with want and life, for a moment before snapping. She licked her lips, and he was there too, painted on her skin like a brand that she never wanted to wash away even as she was so very _desperate_ to not let any of it go to waste.

His hand that was in her hair moved to cradle her face, and she nuzzled into his touch with a pleased hum.

"Your eyes," he breathed, and she knew that they'd gone crimson once more.

"This is their natural color." She explained breathlessly, every slight movement of her tongue refreshing the taste of him and sending bolts of electric heat through her body. "I hide them, but blood and _passion_ bring them out." Something her father had taught her since birth that she'd never been able to shake: the obligation to appear _somewhat_ human so as not to unsettle them too greatly. Hiding what they really are for the sake of fearful _sheep_.

"They're stunning. Remind me of the Philosopher's Stone. It's absolutely criminal that you hide them away from the world." He was totally serious, and she huffed out a breathless laugh, smiling toothily at him. His thumb swiped down over her lips, drawing into her mouth to run across her teeth. She opened her mouth just enough for him to fit between her fangs and run across their sharpened tips. Another thing she'd kept hidden, although she'd kept the elongated incisors in her disguise as a bit of rebellion against her father's insipid _rules._ Now, in a moment of undiluted, raw emotion, her shift had slipped, and her fangs had come out to play; every single tooth a sturdy, vicious fang. No one would see her smile like this and think she was human. How he hadn't so much as winced when she carved his lip up she had no idea.

"This how your teeth naturally are?" She hummed an affirmative around his thumb, and he smirked, eyes sparking with desire. "They suit you." Something warm settled in her heart, and then he was pressing the pad of his thumb down _hard_ on one of her fangs, and there was a fresh wash of warm succour flowing onto her tongue. Eyes fluttering shut, she clamped her lips around his thumb and sucked, laving his thumb with her tongue in an effort to savor every drop.

He leaned down, guided by what she had shown him in her memories, laying a hot trail of bloody, sucking kisses along her jaw and down her neck; nipping and biting here and there with a startling gentleness. The blood he left in his wake burned _deliciously_ against her skin, setting her to moan wantonly, his thumb leaving her lips with a _pop_ as she threw her head back, fingers clawing at Harry's scalp to guide him, to hold him tighter, to please, _please_ never stop!

He hit the base of her throat, her armor preventing him from going where they both wanted him. Tendrils of shadow leapt up from her own, finding every buckle and tie holding her armor in place, and undoing them all at the same time. Her armor fell away, tossed aside by her living shadows, and then they were rushing forward, sliding over Harry, under his shirt, rubbing against his skin like so many excited kittens.

Harry swallowed convulsively. "Fuck me, that feels _good_." He groaned, before he laid a trail of hot, sticky kisses across her collarbone. Her eyes sharpened, shadows tightening their hold, and then she was floating backwards, held aloft by her living shadows, dragging Harry along with her. They twisted slowly in the air, so that when they came to rest upon their lavishly gargantuan bed, she was straddling his hips, favoring him with hooded eyes alight with blood and _want._

"As you wish, _meia deliciae._ " She purred, hands fisting in his too big shirt, shredding it with claws and sharp shadows in equal measure.

"Oh," he gasped out, wide eyed. "We're- we're really doing this then?" His hands had gone to her hips, holding her tight even as nerves clawed at his heart.

She leaned down, tongue flicking out to lap at the blood still flowing from his torn lip. "Only if you want to, my darling. I'll understand if you're not ready." It would be torture of the highest order to have to stop now, to have to restrain herself from this moment on until he was ready, but she'd do it. For him. For _them_.

His hands fisted in her tunic, pulling it up, and it was eagerly that she raised her arms so he could pull it off and toss it aside, leaving her in naught but her pants. She wore no bra, and she reveled in the way his eyes nearly bugged out of his head when her tunic fell away, latching onto her chest as she stretched her arms over her head, preening under his awestruck attention.

"Fuck that waiting shite," he managed to choke out, tearing his eyes away from her chest to spear her with an intense look of such desire that it left her breathless. "We've got a war ahead of us, and I don't want to miss a _damn thing_."

"That's what I like to hear." She crooned as his arms wove around her, hands splaying out against the soft skin of her back, and she could feel him wondering at _how_ soft and smooth she was, but then she was leaning down to press their lips together again, and then he could only think about the softness of her lips, the delightful sharpness of her teeth on his tongue, the taste of his blood on her lips, and the utter _satisfaction_ of knowing that he's wanted so viscerally by someone as incredible as she is.

She moaned into his mouth, rolling her hips against his, enjoying the shock of pleasure that shot through her as she rubbed her core down on his erection, even with all the layers still between them. She broke away to leave a trail of nips and kisses along his jaw and up to his ear, where she sucked his ear between her lips. He let out a breathy ' _fuck,_ ' and one of his hands trailed down her back to cup her ass, marveling at how _good_ it felt in his hand, and pulling her closer, thrusting his own hips in time with the movement entirely by instinct, sending an electric bolt of pleasure rocking through her.

Her shadows writhed, shredding the rest of their clothes unceremoniously, the tattered remnants falling around them like rain. Just like that, the length of him was pressed against her, and she rocked her hips again, drawing a moan from deep within the both of them. She did it again, and again, setting a slow, laborious pace, breathing hard into his neck as his cock nestled into her without actually entering her.

"So warm," he murmured, and she chuckled, low and excited, in his ear.

"Just you wait," she ran her tongue up his neck, sending shivers down his spine. "It gets _so much better._ "

"Celestine, I-I want-" He trailed off, the hand not busy groping her ass tangling itself in her hair, which had come out of her carefully done up braids, writhing in the air around her face the same as her living shadows did across his body. "I want you to bite me." She stuttered in her pace, eyes wide as she pulled back to look him in the eye; to be _sure_ he just said what he did.

"Harry…"

"I want you to. Bite me, drink your fill." He tilted his head, baring his neck for her, and she rocked her hips with a high, keening noise of restrained _need_. "I know you won't hurt me, and it won't turn me." _Though I'm not opposed to being turned, just not yet_. Echoed in the space between them, and she leaned down to kiss him again, angling her hips so that the head of his dick pressed against her entrance with the slightest, most delicious pressure.

" _Thank you, Harry_." She rolled her hips at the same time he thrust his own, sheathing him inside her in one go. She hadn't gotten a good look at him before, but the _stretch_ , the feeling of fullness was _exquisite_ , and she knew he must be blessed with size there, where he is not in height.

At the same time, she clamped her fangs down on his neck, tearing through flesh with ease, and setting his blood to flow, like ambrosia, into her mouth. The bite wasn't terribly deep, not at first, but then his hand fisted in her hair, pulling her close as he begged her, breathlessly, to not hold back, to take from him what she wants, what she _needs_ , and so she did. She bit down _hard_ , sinking her fangs in as far as they would go, and the flow of his blood turned to a flood, which she swallowed, mouthful after blissful mouthful. With each beat of his heart, liquid heat and electric magic flowed into her, and through her; suffusing her body in _him_ , his life force.

She thrust her hips in time with her swallows, in time with the beating of his heart, and he followed suit; pressing into her as deep and as hard as he could, bracing his feet on the bed to drive his hips up into hers with all he had as he stoked the flames of pleasure in her higher, and higher, and _higher_.

"You feel _so good_ , Celestine. Feels like I'm _melting_." He gasped, and she moaned her agreement into his neck.

_Your blood, your_ dick _! Don't stop, don't you fucking stop!_ He grunted, eyes screwed tight as he fought off his rapidly approaching peak, and she pulled away, lavishing the bite she'd granted him with her tongue to seal it.

"Don't fight it, _meia deliciae._ " Then she was kissing him again, silencing his protests before he could even get started, rolling her hips with renewed fervor, feeling him hit a spot _so deep_ within her that it had her seeing stars.

"I'm almost there, Harry." She moaned breathlessly, pressing their foreheads together, their eyes locking from less than an inch away. Determination sparked in his eyes, and he seized her hips in both hands, driving up into her relentlessly, setting a blistering pace that had her choking on a gasp, a litany of Latin swears spilling out of her lips as the fire in her belly coiled tighter, and tighter, _and tighter_ , until it released all at once, flooding her entire body with white hot pleasure.

She cried out, seeking his mind out with her own, to share her pleasure with him. His eyes went wide, and then he was groaning, long and low, as he buried himself up to the hilt in her one last time, twitching once, twice, and then erupting, the first of many sticky ropes of his cum plastering her insides, setting her awash in a satisfaction that seeped out from her core and settled into her _bones_.

She slumped down onto him, wrapping his head in her arms, kissing him lazily, enjoying the taste of him on her lips, basking in the feeling of intimacy that she had not had in so very long.

"Celestine," he murmured reverently when she pulled away to nuzzle his throat where she'd bitten him. She'd been sloppy, caught in the moment, and his blood had spilled down his neck and onto his chest, where it was now caught between their naked bodies, painting them both a lurid crimson. The sight, the feel, the smell of his blood all around her had her practically purring.

" _Harry_ ," she pressed a kiss to his pulse point, feeling his heartbeat against her lips. Steady, strong, not a hint of fear in him even as she painted him with his own blood. What kind of man was he, to lay so comfortably in the arms of a woman that reveled in his blood? What madness had planted itself within him that led him to give her such devotion, such _trust_ the likes of which she had never enjoyed in all her long years?

Likely the same madness that had driven her to bind herself in blood and honor to a man she had only just met, irrevocably tying their fates to each other forevermore. Is this love? Or, at least the first stirrings of it? Is it fate? Perhaps neither, perhaps both, in the end it matters little. They have each other now, and she has no intention of letting him go. Not to the meddling of hags like the Weasley matron, not to uppity Dark Lords with delusions of grandeur, not to time, not even if the Gods themselves came down from on high would she let him be taken from her. The sentiment is echoed in his own heart, a warm, tender thing, wrapped up in sharp, deadly protectiveness.

"We made a bit of a mess." He laughed breathlessly, pressing a kiss into her throat, leaving yet another imprint of his lips in his blood on her skin, and she giggled. He's not wrong. They look like a murder scene out of some horrible tv melodrama.

"I can feel _me_ in you. My magic, mixing with yours." His hands roamed over her back, over the swell of her hips, her ass, and back up. Tracing the path his power, brought into her through his blood, cut through her body. She can feel it too. The heady sensation of the two of them becoming one, their minds lingering together, pressed against each other as close as their bodies. And he's still hard, still inside her. She clenched her inner muscles around him, and he huffed out a breath in surprise.

"Blood given willingly is a powerful thing." She ran her tongue up his bloodied throat, flicking it over his chin as she propped herself up on her elbows above him. "And you didn't just _let_ me drink your blood. No, you begged me, _demanded_ that I take as much as I dared. Such a thing has not happened in over fifteen hundred years." She grinned toothily, eyes glittering like rubies, so bright that she could see the glow they cast on his face from so close, but he just looked confused.

"No one has _let_ a vampire drink from them in over fifteen hundred years?" He asked disbelievingly. "That doesn't sound right."

She hummed thoughtfully, leaning down to lick across his shredded lip, using a bit of his blood to heal it. "Perhaps I misspoke," she said into his lips. "I meant to say that a powerful sorcerer has not done so in over fifteen hundred years."

"I'm no sorcerer," he protested weakly, craning his head up to catch her lips with his own in a slow, languid kiss.

"Not yet," she breathed when the kiss trailed off, rolling her hips lazily, teasing a gasp out of him. "But you _will be_. The only thing you're missing is knowledge, and that will come in time. You're going to change the world, Harry. I know it in my heart."

" _We're_ going to change the world, Celestine. I can't do this without you." His arms wrapped around her, holding her tight, pressing them flush against one another as he rocked his hips in turn. His eyes burned with determination and fear, hope and affection. Like emerald flames, carrying a torch, and the torch was for _her_ , and for all that they had sworn to do. For the world that they would change, for the wars they would wage, for the blood they would spill, together.

"Don't sell yourself short, _meia lepores._ " Her voice was a breathy murmur. "You could, but I cannot tell you how glad I am to be by your side for it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was hesitant to post this chapter at first due to the stricter rules at a certain other website it is also posted to, but ultimately I just said fuck it and here we are! Please forgive the delay, and I hope you all enjoyed this one.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave your thoughts behind before you go! I hope you enjoyed, and have a pleasant day!


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